As I sit languishing in jail, I often have time to reflect on how I came to be here. And when I think back to those events it is now through a haze of bittersweet reflection that I remember. I ache with a body wide itch that inhabits the layers beneath my skin, and the marrow in my bones, to be free of this jail cell and the sentence which confines me here. But along with the pain, I would be lying if I weren’t to tell you that the events which put me in jail, also gave me most intense head-to-toe rush of being alive that I have ever felt…maybe ever will feel. Would I do it again? Yes and no…life is never so black and white. But now that it’s done, I can say that I will cherish the sweetness of the experience till my dying days.
I was in my study at about 10:15 one week night. I am an architect and have cultivated the habit of working after dinner, after the kids have gone to bed. My wife Susan and I have two children, Sarah who is sixteen, and Max, who came along much later as an afterthought, and is only eight years old. Susan and I have been married now for twenty-one years, most of them good one’s, although in the last few years we have gone through another rocky patch. I guess it’s to be expected, and comes with the territory. I was taught to stick it out and try to make the most of it, and know that in time it will pass. I have a history of depression. It tends to throw my work into a bit of a funk, as well as my family life. I struggle to keep up with my work commitments during these periods, and it means that other things tend to fall by the wayside. Susan has found this very hard, as she feels ignored, and alone in the marriage, and sometimes wondering I guess why she ended up with a guy who is not as robust as she is? I guess so many women still have hero worship as the basis of their love for their men. It’s just that slowly they realize that in many ways they are somehow stronger than the men they love. It’s a hard lesson.
Susan has started to take prescription sleeping tablets. Some nights when I’m blue I often immerse myself in my work…try at least. Susan has tried repeatedly to crack my shell when I’m blue, but has given up in frustration. She wants to know why I am this way, and to understand it. I just want an antidote. It has left her bitter and sad. She copes now by taking sleeping pills to knock her out so she doesn’t have to lie awake ruminating about it. And I work alone in the study trying to squeeze out ideas from my tired brain, and trying to forget the nagging voice which reminds me that our marriage is suffering because of my weakness.
It was one on of these nights that I was sketching at my desk in the study. It is down one end of our house away from the bedrooms. The garage is close by, and I heard Sarah come in to the driveway and pull up outside the garage. I listen for her as she has only been driving for six months. I hear the door slam in what sounds like anger in action. Sarah comes into the house more quietly and moves past my door in a blur….
“Sarah…”
She stops two or three strides past my door in the hallway, then back tracks to the edge of the door frame. She is standing side on so I can only see her ear and the back of her head. The front of her face is blocked by the door frame.
“What dad?”
“What’s the matter? You slammed the car door like you were angry. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine!” She starts to walk again.
“Sarah!”
She stops a few steps down the hall again. Now I get up from my desk and move around it towards the study door.
“Sarah…come in here please.” My voice is pleading.
She comes back and stands in the doorway facing me. Although her face is shrouded by the light coming from behind her I can tell she is upset. I try to think how I can help. In the last few years she has grown away from me and we don’t often talk. Often when we do it’s in sound-bite size conversations. You love them so much, and yet they shut you out and reject you. Everyone says it’s a teenage phase. Sometimes I worry that it may be more permanent. That as well as Susan starting to despise me, Sarah is as well.
“Sarah…” I sit down on my couch in the study. “What is it?”
“Dad it’s nice of you to be concerned…but it’s really nothing to worry about.” She’s still in the doorway.
“Your face tells me that it is something to worry about. You’re obviously upset by it.”
“So…what are you going to do about it?!”
Ouch…that hurt. Yes what can I do? Susan has made me aware on several occasions how impotent I am at being able to fix a woman’s hurt feelings.
“I don’t know…maybe if you can tell me I can help…” I don’t sound confident.
She may not be confident I can help…but she comes over to the couch anyway and sits down at one end opposite to me.
“It’s Craig…” Craig is the latest man on Sarah’s scene. In the last six months she’s been dating more.
“We’re fighting…” I can see a tear in the corner of one eye.
“Oh…can I ask what about?”
“No…you can’t help…and besides… it’s between he and I.”
“Sarah…I know you are getting older and becoming an adult…and you can handle most things on your own…but you can still talk to your mother and I if you are upset about something.”
“Thanks Dad…maybe I’ll talk to Mum about it…tomorrow.”
“Oh….OK honey…if that’s what you want.”
I thought we were through. That’s when I noticed Sarah’s bra-strap. It was a shoestring strap which came up her chest and looped around the back of her neck. It was black. She was wearing a tight short sleeved t-shirt which had a low cut neckline. The t-shirt was tight over her C-D cup breasts and remained tight all the way down her firm flat stomach. She had a pair of tight blue jeans on. I don’t know what it was about that bra-strap…but on seeing it something fundamentally shifted.
I’d never thought of Sarah in a sexual way….no hang on that’s a lie. I did masturbate one holiday when I saw Sarah in a bikini when she was fourteen and had just started to blossom. But I felt so bad for weeks afterwards, about thinking about her in that way. And after that I went back to just thinking about her as my little girl, who I was there to protect.
But now…I followed the bra-strap from the back of her neck down her chest towards where it disappeared under her shirt and was holding those magnificent breasts in check from gravity. Hang on…I shouldn’t be thinking like this. But in an instant my impression of Sarah had shifted. I was looking at her and seeing her as a fully sexual woman…not my daughter…just another human being…who from an objective point of view was very sexy.
“Dad…why are you looking at me like that?”
Fuck! She’s caught me! Fuck! What kind of a Dad am I?
“I was just thinking about your situation…” I stammered.
“No you weren’t…You…you were staring at my breasts!”
Fuck! Now I am really caught. How do I extract myself out of this one? Fucking teenagers are so sharp sometimes. Nothing slips by them.
“Umm…” I saw the bra strap again.
“Dad!”
“Umm….sorry…I…ummm…” I took a punt…maybe a little bit of the truth would help set me free.
“Umm…something about your bra strap caught my eye. Sorry.”
“My bra strap?…” She ran the fingers of one hand along it.
“Oh….” Her face changed. Something must have changed in the way she thought about me. She probably just thought I’m another prick male that perv’s on her. Oh great!
“Do you think I’m attractive Dad?” she asked in a hesitant voice. She giggled.
“Yes honey! “ I blurt out. “ You’re beautiful!”
“Dad!” She stands up quickly from the couch in front of me and firmly plants both hands on her hips, and purses her lips together.
“I don’t want a stock standard answer. Look at me properly! Do you think I am attractive as a woman?…”
For some reason I listen to her and just let my eyes behold her in front of me. I look at her eyes pleading with mine to provide her with some kind of answer. What is she looking for me to say to her? I stop thinking for a moment and just look. And it happens again. The bra-strap catches my attention once more. I look at her face, the curve of her neck going down to her ample bosom. The way the bottom of her breasts curve back in toward her stomach, and how this flows down onto her hips. I never thought about what a beautiful small box Sarah had, but now staring into the crotch of her jeans which is at my eye level, I begin to wonder what delicate little treasure lies beneath those jeans and panties.
When my wife and I make love, her snatch no longer grips me the way it used to. The urgency and lust she once had that was transmitted somehow magically to her vaginal muscles has now faded. I guess I am the same. The hardness I once had…still there…but not to the same degree. I begin to daydream about the firmness and freshness of Sarah’s pussy. Untouched by the trauma of childbirth, and the years of fatigue that comes as an adult. What would Sarah’s smell be like? I keep looking at her pussy and her thighs, outlined by her tight jeans. I realize someone will be lucky to play around with Sarah.
I am jolted back to reality!
“So now you’ve had such a good look…what do you think?”
“Umm….”
“So why doesn’t Craig want to get his hands on ME?!!” She starts to tear up as she finishes the sentence. So that what this is really all about! She is worried she is not beautiful enough and something Craig has said or done has tapped that anxiety.
I stand up and begin to hug her.
She starts to cry and talk at the same time.
“He doesn’t want to sleep with me…what have I done wrong?”
I am standing there with my arms around her. Her forehead is at my nose level. Her breasts push in and out of my chest as her breath comes fitfully between sobs. Her lithe body melds nicely against mine.
“Its OK I say.” I am palpably relieved that Craig is not sleeping with Sarah, although for the wrong reasons. I should be happy that Sarah is finding love and happiness for herself, or at least taking the first adult steps to secure such needs for herself. However I find I am somehow jealous that Craig is getting access to the body of my daughter!
“Maybe he comes from a strict family background…”
“NO! His older sister was the school bike,…and I know he’s been with other girls besides me!”
“Do you know that for sure?…or are you just guessing?”
“No…I’m pretty sure as Rebecca told me he’d been with Corrine Thompson for sure.”
Sarah and I were still locked in a hug embrace and my cock had become hard in my pants, and was pointing off to the right. It was sandwiched between my leg and Sarah’s leg, by our hugging each other. Funnily as I thought about it, Sarah noticed it.
“Daddy…” her little girl tone.
She tilted her head up to look at me in the eyes.
“Daddy…you do think I’m attractive!” Still the little girl voice. This time sounding pleased. Like she was when she was five or six and she knew she had done something to make me happy. You would hear the joy bubbling over in her voice.
I pull away as if slapped. This is in-appropriate! I’ve got a raging hard on from my daughter. I’m depressed…my wife and I are having difficulties and now because I’m so sex starved, un-happy, over-tired, unfulfilled….everything!!!…now this to make it all more difficult. How do I get out of this one?
She leans in to hug me again and she pulls me against her so once more my cock is squashed against my leg and her thigh. She nuzzles her head into my chest. I look down and see the bra-strap winding its way up one side of her neck, over and down the other side. I’m gone. If there was one moment between the old me, and the me that now sits in jail…this was it.
I grab the bottom of her t-shirt and pull it. Sarah is caught un-awares. She’s been nuzzling my chest and by the time I’ve yanked it up and she’s realized what’s happening she has both her arms high in the air and the t-shirt is at her wrists. I pull it all the way and drop it to the floor. No sooner are my hands free than they seize her big breasts from the front, my palms covering their entire area. I squeeze. Ohhhh…the firm delight. I see the bra-strap now which curves down in a line from the back of her neck to each breast. The bra is see through lace and looks maybe a size too small for Sarah’s generous bosom…so that each globe is almost spilling out of the cup. I can feel the small nipples are hard underneath my hands. I squeeze again. I am rigid from head to toe with….fear…and LUST! What am I doing?! I squeeze more and this time close my eyes and try to kiss Sarah on the mouth. I do so and just as I open my mouth to dart my tongue into hers she pulls away…
“Dad…stop it….what are you doing?!!” Sarah has recovered enough from the shock of having her t-shirt forcefully removed, and then her breasts squeezed to stammer this out.
“Craig is a fool!……Oh God Sarah I’m sorry!”
No I’m not.
I’m just sorry she has said no.
So now I feel I have to apologise…otherwise I’m fucked!
I don’t have the balls anymore to say “YEAH I started this and I wanted it, and I know its wrong but I just wanted it so badly to erase all the pain and shit in my life…if only for a while!” And how was me sexually caressing Sarah going to make her feel better about Craig’s reluctance? God I’m a fool sometimes!
“Dad…we can’t.” This time more gently. My hands are still on her tits. I don’t know whether I’m squeezing or not. I see the bra-strap…
“Dad….”
“I know…I know…”
I kiss her on the mouth. This time forcefully and I open my mouth and insert my tongue into hers. It is a kiss that does not ask for permission, nor invite denial. I begin to bite gently Sarah’s bottom lip, and then cover her lips again with both of my own. I open my mouth and run my tongue along Sarah’s lips. Her mouth starts to respond and she opens her lips and allows me to begin to swirl my tongue around with hers. Our mouths are wet and sticky with saliva. Sarah tastes great. I am a teenager again feeling the joy of someone who WANTS to kiss me!
I’m kidding myself. I am forcing myself on my teenage daughter. She doesn’t want me! This is forceful incest!….I pull away. I’m a bag of contradictions. I want Sarah and yet I’m plagued by doubt and guilt.
“Dad….we can’t” she says in a sleepy dreamlike voice.
She’s overcome by hormones. I don’t have as many running around my body any more as she does, so I can think a little more clearly, and although my mind somewhere is saying this is all wrong…I am still tangled up with her body. I withdraw my hands off her tits. Someone has shut off the lights in my brain. It’s all dark again, back to my miserable world of reality…
“Sarah…I’m sorry sweetie…” I’m mumbling…looking down at my feet. I fall backward to sit on the couch.
“Sarah…I’m sorry.” I am looking at her belly button as I say it. She stands towering over me…with her face looking down at me.
“I don’t know what to say…” she says. “I never knew you lusted after me. I always just thought you barely knew that I was becoming a woman. I thought you didn’t think I am pretty! But I can see by your body that you do. It’s OK…I understand that men lose control sometimes. I won’t tell.”
She sneakily leans in towards me and cradles my head in her hands. My face is now about an inch from her belly. FUCK! I can smell her pussy. Through her jeans and panties its sweet tangy odour assaults my nostrils. FUCK!!!!!! That is shear heaven…what is she saying to me????
“It’s OK Dad….I promise this will be our secret.”
Ah fuck! Another dream fantasy that will just never come true! Maybe it’s for the best. But why is it that I am tortured all my life by a rich fantasy life which never seems to get translated into reality. My head is near Sarah’s belly still. Her smell is all through my brain.
“I don’t know why Craig doesn’t want you” I say.
She pushes my head back from her belly as I mention his name. She’s been stung by being reminded of her rejection.
“He’s a FOOL” I hiss.
As I say this lean forward and kiss her lightly just an inch below the belly…
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