Chapter One

The hearth crackled as a log settled, orange glowing embers flitting up the chimney in a fairy-like dance. The scent of burning pine filled the living room, a familiar and comforting aroma. I associated it with cold winter days and cozy interiors, hiding safely from winter's chill.

In my hand a heavy cut-crystal glass tinkled with the sound of ice cubes hitting the sides as I raised the smoky single-malt Glenlivet scotch to my mouth. A gust of wind rattled the dark window as I sipped; cool, smooth, twelve-year-old scotch slipping down my throat to blossom into heat in my stomach. It was snowing hard outside, blustery gusts stirring up a storm of white, not quite a blizzard but close. I couldn't see it but I knew it was there; it had been battering our area all day. The thought of huge snow drifts pleased me. I loved winter storms. Perhaps it was that special feeling of isolation from the world. Or perhaps it was the silence in between gusts that held a muted, deafening quality that made you want to yawn to clear the blocked sensation in your ears. Perhaps it was the incredible white blanket that covered the land in innocent purity; a world restored to peace, free of ugliness and strife, if only for a while.

My mind turned to Sia, my freshly minted thirteen-year-old daughter, now in bed and, hopefully, asleep; not checking up on her friends' Facebook status on her iPhone - something the young seemed to do every waking moment of the day.

I pictured Sia. That unsettling feeling returned in a flash; a vague discomfort blended with something else, something that quickened my pulse that shouldn't have. I took another sip of scotch, ice tinkling its soothing crystal symphony. Alcohol hit my brain bringing on the first hint of fuzziness, softening my perspective on life. My thoughts drifted like the snowdrifts outside our cozy home.

I wondered if there were invisible porous barriers that, once penetrated, could never be reversed. Did perceptions pass through these ethereal barriers to end up for ever changed on the other side? If so, why weren't there warnings? Signs? Some hint that a barrier had been approached: "Beware, beyond this point everything will be different. Think twice before passing"?

When does a game change from playful, innocent fun into something more? Something with deeper significance? I didn't know. But that's what had happened earlier this evening. A fun game that had been part of our routine since Sia was five years old had changed suddenly and evolved into something very, very different; something surprising, unsettling, and inappropriate.

Sia was my joy. She was the light of my life, filling me with pride and giving me a reason to work hard to provide. In the seven years since Soraya, her mother and my wife, had passed away, Sia had filled my life with laughter, frustration at her far-too-frequent intransigence, delight at her stubbornness, and wonder at her inquisitiveness - her constant discovery of the world around her. She was curious to an extreme, never satisfied with my answers to her endless questions. I was sure she was going to be a scientist - or would if she'd decide school grades were worthy of her attention.

A memory brought a smile.

Sia at five years old sitting on one end of our couch, legs curled to the side. I'd stretched out and claimed the whole couch (as was my right as the male of the house) before she arrived in the living room and, in her typical way, she'd forced herself onto the other end of the couch shoving my legs and feet out of the way. I kicked back trying to push her off. She'd kicked her little feet out shoving my legs away. With a big grin, I'd used my toes to tickle her sides. A burst of giggles had ensued, "Stop, Daddy!", her legs furiously shoving my feet away.

It happened again a few nights later, this game of ours. But it became special after Soraya had passed away, leaving a huge hole in our lives.

Soraya had been the center of our world, soft-spoken, full of love, kind to a fault, considerate, and a Master Sergeant leveraging a steely voice and firm will to maintain order and discipline between a rambunctious child and an equally rambunctious father. Sia drowned in sorrow when her mother passed. I had too but my focus on caring for my daughter kept depression at bay, only sneaking out when I'd go to bed; a lonely linen desert with a huge hole left by my wife, a warm body missed, comfort, love, sexy snuggling gone from my life.

Sia was three months shy of seven years old, and what seemed to me terminally sad, when the breakthrough happened. She'd quietly sat on one end of the couch and, in my ongoing effort to bring a smile to her pretty face, I'd tried to shove her off with my feet. At first angry, cute frown and all, Sia had shoved back. A war ensued, feet battling for position and access, kicking, thrusting, bodies contorting. Then, in the midst of the mêlée, magic happened. Somewhere in the waging war, my toes found her side and furious giggles erupted; the first giggles since we'd lost such an important member of our family. My heart soared. I attacked with no restraint until my giggling daughter screamed, "Stooop, Daddy!"

While the war was over, while I had a rather dopey smile on my face, while my heart grew with pleasure at the return of my feisty daughter, I used my toes to give small nudges to her feet. Sia grinned silently pretending to ignore me, her attention on the television, and used her feet to deflect my actions.

The game of footsie had officially returned.

At first, the game was an occasional thing, once or twice a week. Sometimes Sia chose to snuggle at my side, warming my soul and relaxing me more than a professional masseuse. Then, when she'd park herself at the other end of the couch I'd shove her with my feet, earning a smile and a shove with small bare feet in response. But, by the time Sia was eight years old, when the game of footsie was over, our feet and legs would remain in contact, as if a personal connection was needed by us both. Silent communication began, too. Something on the television that warranted attention would be pointed out with a foot poke, or a shove when it was particularly notable.

By the time Sia was nine years old I'd started using the contact to communicate affection, my love, an emotion that continued to strengthen much to my surprise. I thought I loved Sia endlessly, but as she grew, maturity peeking out to show the promise of the young lady inside her, my love intensified, as did my pride. When a flush of love would hit me I'd caress her thigh or calf with my foot, a silent comment to her, and she'd respond with an acknowledging foot caressing my leg.

It became routine for us to have our legs touching when watching TV in the evenings. Sometimes tickling would ensue when I'd want a reaction from her; other times, Sia would shove at my legs with outrage, "Daddy!", her response to one of my dumb comments or observations on a television show she was watching.

Like her mother, Soraya, Sia was a slight girl. She ate voraciously, burned through carbs with her endless energy, and suddenly started growing like spring wheat at eleven years old. Soraya had been a willowy lady with a spine of titanium. Much to her constant disappointment, she'd never grown beyond a size zero dress and hated it when I'd hug her and rest my chin on the top of her head. It never stopped her from snuggling into me, though, or turning her face up for a kiss.

A sudden hard gust of wind rattled the dark window. The house creaked as if struggling to shrug off nature's aggression. I took another sip of scotch and watched the fireplace, logs slowly subsiding into glowing embers that cast a flickering yellow-orange light into the living room, softening it and making it look even cozier. The scotch unlocked my mind and let it roam along the hallways of my memories.

Skinny Sia, twelve years old and sitting at the kitchen table dressed for school in jeans, a pale green T-shirt, black and pink Nikes, with a serious expression on her face as she toyed with a bowl of Frosted Rice Krispies, studying her iPhone on the table to the side.

"Dad?"

"Mmmm-hmmm?" I responded, sipping coffee from a chipped mug, absorbed in the morning newspaper.

"Did you know the average age for the onset of puberty is ten and a half?"

A lurch of discomfort hit me. I'd avoided 'the talk' with Sia out of embarrassment and rationalized my avoidance by believing it was too soon; she was too small. Talk of sex and boys had yet to happen. Clearly, I was too late.

"Ten and a half, huh?" I mumbled.

"That's right. When did Mom start puberty?"

"I dunno," I mumbled, eying my daughter for signs of changes. As far as I could see, there were none. Perhaps the T-shirt was hiding it. Glancing up from Sia's chest, I studied her face.

It was there. No question. While still a young girl, emerging maturity was displacing childhood: cheek bones more prominent, pale freckles dusting them; slender nose; sculpted chin; lips that had lost their cuteness; a mouth that could smile and light the darkest night.

And then, there were her eyes.

Sia was born with heterochromia iridis - different colored eyes - the left one pale blue, the right rich hazel brown. It was a bit disorienting when first confronted with them but I'd grown to love them. They were expressive perfection, sometimes twinkling brown and blue in amusement, sometimes the hazel eye darkening and the blue becoming icy accompanied by a frown of displeasure. I could study her eyes and tell what mood she was in even when she tried to hide it.

With very dark brown hair - a mess of thick waves that fell to below her shoulder blades - and her unusual features, to me, Sia was simply gorgeous. She had a feline quality with those eyes, mystical, captivating, magical.

With some trepidation, I asked, "Have you started puberty?"

Sia snorted. "No. That's what I'm talking about. How come? All my friends have."

"Maybe it'll skip you by," I suggested with a smile, and somehow wished it could actually happen.

Sia frowned at me, eyebrows scrunched. "You don't want me to grow up. You want me to be a kid for ever," she accused.

"So sue me," I responded. "I've invested a lot of time into you. The least you could do is stay my sweet little girl for another ten years or so. Is that so unreasonable?"

"Typical!" Sia muttered, shoving her empty bowl of cereal away and grabbing her iPhone. "I'm going to school."

Of course, once the subject had been opened it stayed with me. I was a single child. I'd never experienced a girl going through puberty and hadn't expected to have to handle it. I'd assumed Soraya would guide Sia through the changes. But, despite my nervousness and sweaty palms, when I'd suggested to my daughter we should have a chat about puberty and sex, she'd laughed.

"Honestly, Dad, this isn't the twentieth century anymore. I've read all about it online."

"But honey, Facebook is not an authoritative source," I'd suggested.

Sia had looked at me as if I was stupid. "I used the medical dictionary and Mayo Clinic for info. Jeeez, you really are clueless!"

Thus, no discussion of puberty was tolerated. No discussion of sex was accepted. My daughter had it all figured out and would shudder when I mentioned anything about it.

However, not six months later, my daughter blushed (a very rare event) as she stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Dad, can you take me shopping on Saturday?"

"You don't need new sneakers," I automatically responded.

"It's not for sneakers," Sia replied.

I paused peeling carrots at the sink and looked behind me. Sia was leaning against the door jamb and looking down.

"Then what do you need?" I inquired. "New jeans? Tops? A dress? Don't you have a closet full of those?"

That's when the blush blossomed on her cheeks making the dusting of pale freckles stand out. I turned and leaned back against the sink.

"What gives, honey?" I asked in a softer voice.

"I need a bra," she mumbled.

Well heavens to Betsy! My Sia had started puberty! I couldn't stop myself from looking down at her chest. Nothing. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Honestly, Dad!" she exclaimed, the redness on her cheeks now more to do with exasperation at me than embarrassment. "I'm not stupid!"

"Well, I guess we'd better shop this weekend."

"Just take me and pick me up later. I can shop by myself," Sia suggested.

"Nope. This is important. I'm going to be there with you every step of the way," I announced.

Of course, I wasn't. When she led me into the young lady's lingerie section at Target, and I found myself picking up little bras that seemed so . . . so adult, I felt a twinge of embarrassment. I studied rows upon rows of small bras, simple cotton with no cups in a variety of colors and prints. A selection of plain bras with cups that weren't really cups was followed by a shocking selection of inappropriate skimpy bras that appeared to me to be suitable for a pole-dancing performance. Then I noticed soft, lacy bras that had no cups, no support, nor provide any modesty, the small triangles of lace see-through. On the same peg was matching panties, lacy, transparent, plain white and remarkably sexy; bikini style, boy shorts style, and even a thong!

It embarrassed me so much, I beat a hasty retreat and let Sia shop for herself, my mind preoccupied with why manufacturers would ever think pubescent girls needed sensual undies. I mean, who exactly was going to see them?

Despite not seeing her new acquisitions - Sia hiding them from sight - they preyed on my mind. It was hard not to think about them. What was her taste like? I very clearly remembered Soraya's lingerie. Having been an avid fan, I enjoyed watching my wife get dressed, and her getting undressed was even more exciting. I knew her entire selection of underthings, from sheer bikini panties to lovely lacy panties and even her vintage-style, gossamer full-cut panties, I adored them all, as long as she was wearing them and she'd let me fondle them a bit before removing them for her. "I'm only trying to help," I'd claim with a soft caress of her exquisite rump. Just the feel of soft, slippery silk across a shapely buttock would arouse me.

For the next six months I'd studied Sia expecting to see signs of puberty but there were no outward indications of the storming changes she was going through, or, at least, what I thought she was going through. It might have been the sweaters, both hers and mine, that she was now constantly wearing.

Another hard gust of wind battered the dark window. Warm and cozy, and now a little tipsy, I sipped the scotch and smiled at a sexy memory. Soraya had fully catered to my quirk. She'd amassed panties in a rainbow of colors and styles, knowing full well how a little peek would bring on my lascivious streak. Sometimes it would lead to sex, sometimes to some sexy groping, and every time it would lead to a kiss and snuggle. I'd adored her. I missed her no end.

I adored my daughter, too, just in a fatherly way. Or so I'd thought. Yet tonight, something had changed between us.

We'd been slouched on the couch in our usual positions, leaning against the armrest at each end. Our legs and feet had been in their usual entwined state. But Sia (while absorbed in an episode of Arrow, the protagonist finally finding romance with his very pretty blonde assistant) had squirmed slightly, shifted onto her side a bit, and slipped down as if to get comfortable.

It took a while for me to register this new position, given I was absorbed in the television show. But, when I did, it was one of those moments. I lost track of the show. Glancing sharply over at Sia, she appeared unaware of our situation, innocently concentrating on the screen.

For some strange reason, my heart rate jumped. I don't know how, but the sole of my bare foot was pressed to my daughter's crotch, her thighs trapping me. Even more disconcerting was Sia's foot; somehow, it was pressed to my groin between my legs.

I froze. I wanted to jerk my foot away but doing so would bring attention to where the damn foot was in the first place. I debated getting up, maybe freshening my scotch. Or going to bed or the bathroom. But . . .

My daughter squeezed my foot with her thighs, softly, almost like a caress, as if she'd wanted her father's foot there, pressed against her privates.

I made the mistake of wondering if she was enjoying the intimate contact and that was that. I had no control over what happened next. I don't know why. I didn't consciously decide to react, I just did. An erection slowly formed right against the soft pressure of the sole of her foot. Before I could extricate myself to hide my embarrassing predicament, Sia flexed her foot, sort of a gentle exploration of the development, followed by another soft squeeze of her thighs around my foot.

I was caught, immobile, a part of me yelling to get up and leave, another equally strong part of me fascinated by the intimate contact. Why did it feel so good?

Before I could decide on what to do, the show ended and Sia withdrew her foot, stood, yawned with a stretch, and gave me a kiss on my cheek as she left to go to bed, "Night, Dad," murmured softly to me.

But I'd seen the slight flush on her freckled cheeks as she left the room, a sign that her actions had either been deliberate or, if it had been accidental, welcomed.

It was a conundrum. With the exception of her face maturing, Sia was still a child; well, a young lady. She was slender, shapeless, sweet and spicy. However, the intrusion of sexual feelings into my perspective of her brought home her adolescence with a bang; boys were going to become interesting to her, not just the pests she'd treated them as.

Even more disconcerting was tomorrow night's winter dance at school. Until now, I'd given it as much thought as flushing a toilet - no concern in the least at her attendance. Now . . . well, now the conditions had changed. There would be dancing. My vision of a hundred kids all dancing together changed. Now I saw girls dancing with boys; one on one! Damn!

Did Sia have a boyfriend? Did she have a secret crush on some pimple-faced teenager? Did she have dreams of dancing a slow dance with said dangerous boy? Bodies pressed together? Slow movements that let them rub up against each other? Shit!

Downing the last of my scotch, no longer feeling a pleasant buzz, but now distinctly annoyed and worried, I rose, closed the screen on the hearth, turned the one light out and headed to bed. Would Sia be annoyed or embarrassed if I played chaperone?

SIA SNUGGLED UNDER HER thick quilt, listening to the wind rattle her window. She shivered despite being cozy under her quilt.

She still felt it; the warmth of arousal, her very small breasts pleasantly aching, feeling larger, and the warm, exciting tingling between her legs. She reached down and cupped her pussy over her pajamas giving herself a soft, pleasant squeeze, a flush of arousal heating her. She could still feel Dad's foot against her pussy, the warm pressure bringing surprising tingles, excitement from a forbidden touch. She'd reacted, too, becoming horny.

Why?

How come the touch of Dad's foot, Dad of all people, made her feel sexy? Sia sighed, gently squeezed her pussy again, a pulse of excitement blossoming inside her. She wondered why that touch felt so much better, so much sexier, than when touching herself. It made her look at Dad in a new light; not just as Dad, but a man, a guy, someone with sexual feelings.

Sia sighed. Was it just because it was a guy, any guy? Probably. She knew how hormones played havoc with feelings; she'd read all about it on the Internet and experienced it in the last few months. She'd found herself becoming infuriated with Dad at times for something simple, something that had never bothered her before: he asking her to clean up after a meal, his asking if she'd done her homework - as if! She knew he was behaving normally but it would still get to her.

Curling up, pulling the quilt snugly around her neck, Sia closed her eyes and turned her thoughts to tomorrow night's dance. The high school boys would be there, too, not just middle school students. Would one ask her to dance? Would Jim Prentice ask her? Would she even accept? Nerves fluttered in her stomach. What should she wear that was fashionable enough? Her blue dress? Maybe the burgundy one.

With equal parts excitement and trepidation, Sia drifted to sleep.

STANDING AT THE OPEN refrigerator, I chugged orange juice from the carton and felt guilty. I never let Sia drink it this way, yet here I was.

My shirt stuck to me, unpleasant. Sweat from shoveling the walkway and drive - three-and-a-half-feet-deep fluffy snow - cooled and made me shiver. Shower next.

I wondered what Sia was up to. She'd hidden away all day, claiming she was selecting her wardrobe for the dance. She'd seemed very excited, too. Me? Not so much. Still, she was only thirteen. How much trouble could she get into?

Closing the fridge door, I headed to the bathroom. Would the teachers let me stay to keep an eagle eye out for any misbehavior?

Showered and shaved, I pulled on jeans and sat on the edge of my bed, bending to inspect my toenails. Should I clip them now? Yup. I reached into the bedside dresser and pulled out clippers.

Sia distracted me by appearing at the bedroom door dressed in soft, baby blue sweat pants rolled at the waist, bare feet, and a black cotton tank top. She was brushing her hair, long thick waves bouncing, her dark, dark brown hair glossy with youthful vitality.

"I've decided to wear the blue dress," she announced. "What are your thoughts?"

I'll admit I was slightly distracted. With each brush stroke, arm rising, a white bra strap appeared on her slender shoulder and a peek of lace was revealed under her arm. This naturally drew my inspection to her chest. Real trouble started. The black tank top hugged her body revealing remarkably shaped small mounds, widely spaced. The sight shook me profoundly. Sia passed from child into a young woman in the blink of an eye. I could no longer deny her pubescence. With those petite mounds, my daughter was no longer a child. She was unquestionably a girl; a very, very feminine one, too. There was a youthful dichotomy to her - slender, almost willowy body, still with a petite stature, but now exhibiting the onset of a maturing female form. The contrast was just enchanting. It filled me with pride. That there is my daughter! Then it filled me with dread. That adolescent beauty is my daughter and she's going to a dance!

"Dad?"

"Huh?"

"What are your thoughts?"

"About what?" I asked.

"The blue dress! Don't you ever listen to me?"

"Sorry, honey," I apologized, turning my attention back to my toenails and the clipper - safe territory.

"Well?"

"Um. Blue sounds fine," I muttered.

In that mystical art that is female logic, my sweet, maturing young girl announced, "You're right. The burgundy one is better. Thanks," and promptly disappeared.

I might have chuckled at her odd logic but I was still shocked by her appearance. Why hadn't I noticed her emerging breasts before? Had I been in denial? Maybe it was the loose tops she always wore. Then a deeply unsettling realization struck me. That white bra was the lacy, see through one I'd seen in the lingerie section. Unbidden, I imagined what it looked like on Sia; soft, thin lace coddling petite new breasts that needed no support. Would her areolae and nipples show through? Of course they would! Damn!

Oh crap! Had she bought the matching underwear? I was going to stay for the entire dance! No question about it!

Chapter Two

Colored lights and festive banners decorated the school gym. Loud base-heavy thumping music blared from speakers set up on the stage, a couple of DJs busy. No one was dancing, too early perhaps. Boys stood on one side of the floor, girls flocking together on the other side, groups chatting and giggling. Dresses went from flamboyant, puffy, lacy, knee-length designs in outrageously bright colors, to simple sheath-like dresses that barely reached thighs. Some had makeup more appropriate for ladies of the night; others, plain Janes, insecure in their looks.

The boys stood in loose groups sorted by age; young, awkward teenagers, obviously embarrassed and nervous, and high school guys trying to look mature beyond their years, all of them lasciviously ogling the girls. I frowned. I knew what those predatory males were thinking: baseball. First, second and third base; which girl would let them have a grope, a kiss, maybe even let them get lucky tonight. I knew it because I remembered my own thoughts at that age.

Shit!

Further observation confirmed there were far too few teachers policing this potentially explosive situation; twelve covering almost one hundred kids.

"You can go now, Dad," Sia instructed as we stood at the entrance.

"Maybe I should stay a while in case you need me," I suggested, still holding Sia's shoulder.

"Don't embarrass me," Sia said, shrugging my hand off. "Go home. I'll be fine."

Yeah. Right.

I watched Sia move across the floor to her friends. She looked far too good in the slender burgundy sheath that fell to mid-thigh. It did a great job of showcasing her petite bust and adding unacceptable shape to her small rear.

I muttered to myself, annoyed and more than slightly protective of my no longer little girl.

"Shouldn't you two be watching those boys?" I snapped at two teachers chatting together at the entrance and ignoring the gym.

The snow-covered road was lonely on the drive home. I hoped somehow I'd taught Sia enough about the perils of slick-spoken boys and their intents. No. I hadn't. I'd never had the talk with her explaining how all boys lie, how all boys just want to get her into bed, how dangerous a species they were. Double damn!

SIA GLANCED AROUND THE gym, excited, butterflies in her stomach. She glanced across at the boys as she made her way towards Katie, Robin, Lara, and Jasmin, her BFF's who huddled together chatting away. In the group of boys, she spotted Jim Prentice, tall and slender, dressed in black pants, a sky blue shirt unbuttoned to his chest, and a black leather jacket. His dark eyes looked smoky, his smile sexy. He laughed at something another friend said before turning to scan the gym.

Sia saw him notice her sending pleasant shivers through her. Would he ask her to dance? Not! He was almost seventeen. She was too young. Still, Sia straightened slightly to emphasize her small bust and tried to walk gracefully to her friends.

"Did you see what Susan's wearing?" Robin said. "Just look at those frilly sleeves!"

Lara laughed. "It's like a dress from, like, my grandma's era!"

"Don't be catty," Jasmin, the quietest of the group, said, reaching out to hug Sia.

"You look amazing," Katie said with a smile, hugging Sia. "Who are you going to dance with?" she asked, studying the boys.

"I dunno. Whoever asks, maybe," Sia replied.

Lara laughed. "It's the twenty-first century. You can ask a boy to dance, Sia."

"I'd be too embarrassed."

Robin announced she was going to ask a senior to dance with her, "Bill Hall looks pretty cute."

"You think he's cute?" Lara asked in disbelief. "He can't even talk without blushing."

"I don't care. It's sorta cute."

Music grew louder. People started dancing, mostly girls dancing together while boys watched and longed, trying to look cool and hide their nervousness at the terrifying prospect of asking a girl to dance. They shuffled and preened, and egged each other on until the first made an approach to a girl, bent to her ear and asked. That first couple encouraged the others, soon the gym floor was full of dancing teens.

Sia danced with her friends and gradually relaxed. She enjoyed dancing and lost herself in the music. It was a shock when Jim appeared in front of her and asked her to dance, her knees growing weak.

GLANCING ACROSS AT MY daughter sitting quietly in the passenger seat, I wondered if I should ask how she'd enjoyed the dance. The rear wheels of my ancient Ford F1 slid on thick snow that had collected during the evening. I turned the steering wheel and the grumpy pickup thought about it before changing direction. I cursed silently at the Old Sod. We had a hate-hate relationship but it had such pretty curves; a real fifties classic. Successfully back on the road, I drew a deep breath, and took the plunge.

"So did you enjoy yourself?" I asked.

"Uh-huh."

That didn't sound like enjoyment to me. "Did you dance?"

"Uh-huh."

Wow! Something was up. "Who did you dance with?" I asked, only so I could know which asshole had upset my daughter.

"Just some guy."

Hmmm. "Want to talk about it?"

"No thanks."

"You didn't drink alcohol, did you?" I asked.

"Daaaad!"

"Okay. Just checking."

When we arrived home, Sia disappeared into her room. I hunted for a beer in the fridge, retreated to the living room, turned the television on for company, and tried to imagine what could have upset Sia. The platinum blonde weather lady from WCCO, with a waving arm and pointed finger, her bust and her unfortunate nose her most prominent features, announced another winter storm front moving in; a foot more snow expected. "If you're out, drive carefully, the roads will be slippery and dangerous."

Well, duh! Bimbo.

IN HER ROOM, SIA eased the zipper down on her dress and slipped it down her body, stepping out of it. She took off her bra, scratching under her breasts briefly before pulling on a sweatshirt. Hunting through her dresser drawer, she found pale pink sweat pants and pulled them on. Mindlessly she moved across the hall to the bathroom to pee, remove the small amount of makeup she'd put on, and brush her hair out before tying it up in a pony tail.

She hated Jim Prentice. What a jerk!

How was she to know what an ass he was? At first, it had been fun, even exciting to be dancing with him, even if he wasn't that great a dancer. At least he was handsome. Her heart had fluttered when a fast song ended and a slow one started. Jim had looked at her with those smoky eyes, smiled slightly and extended his hand.

Sia, trembling with excitement at her first slow dance with a guy, a handsome guy at that, had taken his hand. Jim had pulled her close and, as the music played, had drawn her closer, body-to-body, moving slowly together. She'd felt that first tingle of arousal as her nipples brushed against him. Even his hand dropping to rest on her butt had been nice. Then he'd leaned back and looked at her, studying her.

Nerves had her knees weak. Would he? Would Jim be her first kiss?

When he'd bent his head in, his lips touching hers, Sia just about fainted.

Then . . . all her dreams were shattered. That asshole had shoved his tongue into her mouth and groped her breast! No sweet kissing. No gentle fondling, touching, exploring. Nope. A rude tongue in the mouth and a painful grasp of her tender breast. That was that.

Maybe she shouldn't have kneed him in the balls. It looked quite painful when he collapsed. But, jeesh! What did he expect? She might be only thirteen but she was far from stupid.

That was the end of dancing. It was the end of fun. When a teacher had rushed over asking what happened she'd said nothing. Nor had Jim, although, he was just trying to breathe at that point.

Her friends had bugged her about what had happened and she hadn't explained. It was too embarrassing.

Sia decided to forget the whole evening. It never happened. Screw it! To hell with boys. Maybe she'd go and watch TV with Dad.

I STUDIED MY DAUGHTER as she walked into the living room with a Coke. She'd changed, now looking fresh and clean and sweet. Her ponytail sitting high on her head was as thick as a vixen's tail. Studying her blue and brown eyes, I knew not to press her. She had something on her mind. She'd just hunker down, retreat into a shell like a threatened turtle if I probed.

As usual, Sia dropped herself onto the other end of the couch, curled her legs up and shoved mine out of the way to make room for herself.

"What are we watching?" she asked, taking a sip of her soda.

"A documentary on the secret lives of cats," I informed her.

"Okay."

I smiled when she reached for the remote and started changing channels. I wasn't that invested in the documentary myself. Still. I couldn't let the opportunity slip by.

"I was watching that," I said, shoving her legs with my feet.

Sia shoved back. "No you weren't."

"I was."

"What was it about?" she asked, still flipping through channels.

"Cats," I answered, with a shove.

"No it wasn't," Sia stated. "It was the secret lives of ANTS."

"No way! Really?" I was fully aware that the documentary had been about ants, but this was one of the ways I could distract her.

Sia shook her head, ponytail swinging. A slight smile emerged. I sighed quietly.

Eventually, Sia settled on a show called The Walking Dead, something to do with zombies. "Hey, I wanted to watch a documentary," I informed her with a toe nudge.

Sia tried to hide her smile as she shoved her feet at me. "This IS a documentary," she claimed. "Stop complaining."

Satisfied with her smile and a return of her sass, I relaxed and sipped my beer. Somehow, through the next two episodes, thank you Netflix, our legs slowly intertwined. I was acutely conscious of her foot slowly wriggling in between my legs, as if seeking warmth. She shifted once, lifting her leg and pulling my foot close, and, for the second time, I reacted.

The sole of my foot pressed gently to her crotch and against it I could actually feel the mounded shape of a thirteen-year-old's pussy. With the warmth of her foot pressed to my groin, my reaction was Pavlovian, an erection slowly forming.

Nothing was said. We both concentrated on the television show, me not really following the story line. I was mentally negotiating with my threatening erection to cease and desist. It was so damned inappropriate to react this way. I'd almost succeeded when my darling daughter turned her ankle slightly, the effect being her sole pressing along my partial erection. Unable to help myself, the partial erection grew into a full one. Arousal flooded my body and swamped my better judgment, fogging what little common sense remained, and I pressed my foot into her crotch in response.

Sia's tacit response was to gently squeeze her thighs tighter around my foot, her attention locked to the TV. For the next half hour or so, with nothing said about the illicit and inappropriate behavior, Sia gently explored my now straining erection with her foot; just slight movements, carefully feeling me. It was exquisite. In its illicitness, it was exciting. Maybe it was a side effect of having seen how my daughter had grown, her petite breasts in that black tank top and the hint of a lacy bra. Whatever it was, I seemed to have lost my moral compass. I found the situation intensely erotic.

When the show ended, Sia casually extracted her foot, rose, stretched and yawned, and bent to kiss my cheek.

"Night, Dad," she whispered in what now sounded like a husky voice.

She left me and my erection, and went to bed. Somewhat bemused, I sat quietly, the television turned off, and finished the last of my beer.

How exactly had this happened? And why wasn't Sia yelling in outrage, calling the police, castigating me? Actually, why had Sia initiated it? It wasn't me that initiated this very intimate contact.

With a sigh at the conundrum I faced, I took me and my stubborn erection to bed. It took a long time for it to subside. It took a long time to fall asleep, too. I should have been focused on how to discourage this intimate game of footsie, but I wasn't. It was just about the sexiest thing I'd ever experienced. For some reason the pure illicitness of it turned me on, aroused me, thrilled me. Was I a bad father?

IN HER ROOM, SNUGGLED under the quilt, Sia shivered with excitement. She'd actually turned Dad on! She'd felt his erection and it felt huge!

Curling on her side, Sia squeezed her thighs together, a pulse of pleasure radiating up from her pussy, her panties damp with arousal. She cupped one small breast under her pajama top and caressed her nipple gently, enjoying how it stiffened and ached.

She knew she should feel ashamed for having been so intimate, or embarrassed at least, but she wasn't. Why? Why did feeling Dad get aroused excite her so much?

She closed her eyes and pictured him with new awareness. He was still youngish, only thirty-six. He was tall and slender and fit. She pictured his dark hazel eyes and the crinkles that formed every time he smiled. She pictured his mouth, how one side would tick up in partial amusement at her, growing into a full-on blinding smile when she'd get pissed off - always entirely his fault - his pleasure so clearly evident. No matter how hard she tried to be angry with him, one grin, one smile, and her anger would dissipate.

Sia knew she couldn't have asked for a better Dad. Sure she didn't like some of his rules, and he was entirely too protective of her. He shouldn't be. She was now thirteen after all. She'd get annoyed at his harping at her to get better grades, to apply herself more, but, as she pointed out, she did apply herself, enough to pass her classes. Who needed more?

Her friend, Lara, complained about her own father. She hated him. All he did was make her life hard. Robin had no feelings one way or the other for her father. He was a non-entity in her life. Jasmin had no father, although she often commented on how cute Dad is, much to Sia's annoyance.

Her mind automatically drifted back to feeling Dad grow erect under her foot. It had surprised her just how sexy she'd found it, her pussy throbbing with excitement. The pressure of his foot against her pussy had felt amazing and she wished he'd moved his foot just a bit, just enough to rub her clit. What would that feel like? What would it feel like to have someone else, even Dad, give her a climax like that?

Groaning, Sia turned her body and snuggled into her pillow. Sexy play with Dad was so much more exciting than what she'd experienced with that jerk, Jim.

Sleep drifted in, Sia snug under her quilt, her body still aroused, pleasantly aching for more.

Chapter Three

A COLD HARSH WINTER light greeted me on Sunday morning. For a moment, I relaxed in bed and stared out through frosted windows to an ultra-pure white landscape, so white it hurt the eyes. A light wind stirred snow into mini flurries. We'd accumulated almost four feet of snow; enough to completely hide the bushes in the back yard.

Clattering noise from the kitchen filtered through the bedroom door. Rolling out from under the thick quilt, I shivered as I strode into the bathroom, turned the shower on, dropped my pajama bottoms, and stepped into the warm water. It took a moment for me to stop shivering.

By the time I entered the kitchen an aroma of freshly brewed coffee was blending with toast. Sia turned from the stove and smiled.

"I was just about to wake you up. I've made scrambled eggs and toast."

Walking over to her, I bent and kissed the crown of her head, inhaling her scent, a delicious aroma of sleepiness and sweetness, completely Sia.

"Morning," I mumbled, moving to pour coffee, then parking my butt at the round kitchen table, an ancient, much-waxed solid oak piece of furniture Soraya had spent months hunting for.

While I sipped the strong coffee, and let the magic of caffeine sweep cobwebs from my brain, I studied my daughter. She'd let her hair fall free in a wavy mass down her back. She'd dressed in worn jeans that hugged her rear, giving it a rather lovely shape - or was that just me now appreciating it? Her olive-green sweatshirt was mine, the Cirque de Soleil logo on the back with Alegria, the name of the show, under it. The top was way too big for her forcing her to fold up the sleeves. It looked very cute on her. I'd always been partial to Soraya wearing my clothes. It seemed Sia had inherited her mother's taste in male haute couture.

"Here ya go," she announced, placing a plate in front of me and another at her place.

I inspected the scrambled eggs and toast while she poured herself a glass of orange juice. Small, green slivers in the eggs told me she'd added chopped chives. The first bite was delicious, rich creamy eggs with a hint of onion bursting in my mouth. I added a bite of only slightly burnt toast. Wonderful.

For the next few minutes there was silence in the kitchen as I stuffed my face, cutlery tinkling against stoneware plates.

"Delicious," I announced, pushing an empty plate away.

"Thanks."

"What are you making for dinner?" I asked with a smile.

Sia grinned. "McDonald's."

I frowned. "Not. What are your plans for the day?" I asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"I thought I'd study for school," she calmly announced.

I choked on a mouthful of coffee, coughed hard and looked at her. The angelic smile, a Mona Lisa-like smile, showed her amusement. "Okay. Got me. What are you really planning for the day?" I coughed to clear my lungs again.

"I thought I'd go to church," she announced.

"Right. And pull my other leg."

Sia laughed, bright, light, happy. It made me smile.

"I'm gonna clean my room, vacuum, and do the laundry," she informed me.

Yeah, sure. "While you're at it, mop the kitchen floor and shovel the drive, okay?"

Sia laughed again, her blue and brown eyes twinkling. But then an amazing change took place. It was magical to watch. Her eyes softened, her laughter faded away to a small, almost shy smile.

"I love you, Dad," she said softly.

Man-oh-man, was I lost. She very rarely told me how she felt about me, usually a quick, "Luv ya," as she'd head out the door. This time it was so different. This time it was sweet and heartfelt, so much so, it brought a prickling sensation to my eyes.

I reached across the table, brushed her hair lightly, cupped her cheek, and rubbed her pale freckles with my thumb.

"I love you too, Sia."

"Enough to buy me some new sneakers?" she asked brightly with a hopeful grin.

I managed to hold the line - no new sneakers. The day passed with me shoveling the drive, vacuuming, and mopping the kitchen floor. My darling daughter took off, picked up by Lara and her mother to "Check out what's new in the mall". What could have changed in the six days since she'd last been there?

By six-thirty, I had a previously homemade frozen lasagna in the oven scenting the house with delicious aromas; a side Boston leaf salad prepped and ready for a red wine, Dijon, and shallot vinaigrette dressing; and a soft loaf of homemade garlic bread waiting to be warmed in the oven.

I found a bottle of Chilean Santa Carolina Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, uncorked it with a pop, and poured the rich ruby-red wine into a glass, leaning back against the counter to take the first sip. Velvety smooth, rich red slipped down my throat leaving a peppery tail in my mouth; dry, excellent.

With the glass in hand, I headed to the living room, turned on the television and watched the evening news. Darkness had fallen. I briefly wondered what my daughter was up to and when she'd be home, then became distracted by a news item about ISIS attracting Jihad brides. What in the name of sanity would induce a woman to desire a life as a Jihadist wife? Didn't they understand how they'd be in servitude to the male? A life of no free will? Was the world going crazy?

How bad did a girl's home life have to be to desire such a bleak fate? Shit! If Sia ever . . .

"I'm home, Dad!"

"About time," I yelled in response. "You didn't meet any Jihadists while you were out, did you?"

Sia strolled into the living room. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her eyes puzzled, a shopping bag in one hand.

"I thought you might have decided to become a Jihadist bride," I said.

"A what?"

"Never mind. What did you buy? A chador?"

"A what?" my confused daughter asked again.

I laughed. "Forget it. So you bought something. What?"

Sia smiled. "It's for you," she announced, handing me the bag.

Digging in, I pulled out a large sweatshirt, royal blue with a Mexx logo. "Very nice. Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm gonna change. What's for dinner? Lasagna?" she asked, sniffing the air. "I'll put this in the bedroom," she added, grabbing the sweatshirt and heading out without waiting for a response.

Fifteen minutes later, Sia walked in wearing a lovely royal blue Mexx sweatshirt that fell to mid-thigh, bare legs and feet below, sleeves rolled up; utterly cute, perfectly edible.

"That's mine," I informed her.

"Uh-huh. I'm breaking it in for you. You're welcome."

Somewhat lost at her logic, shaking my head and smiling, I stood up to finish dinner preparation and refill my glass of wine. Sia followed me into the kitchen chatting about her mall visit, the new fashions, some "really amazing sneakers, Dad," and how maybe she needed some more jeans, or a new dress, or maybe both.

With no prompting, Sia set the kitchen table while I removed the lasagna and put the garlic loaf into the oven. In no time we were eating. Dinner was excellent, filling, very satisfying. I even liked my garlic breath.

By seven-fifty, we were in the living room. I prepared and started a fire to counteract the icy cold air leaking though warped window frames. Sia settled at one end of the couch, dragged an Afghan blanket over her bare legs and started hunting for a show we'd both like on TV.

"It's cold," she announced when I settled on the couch, her icy feet touching my bare feet. I happened to like my feet cold, often sticking them out from under the quilt while I slept. Still, her feet sent a small shiver through me. I shoved them away. She shoved them back. Some foot wrestling ensued accompanied by beautiful giggles before we settled down.

"What are we watching?" I asked.

Sia cheekily replied, "A documentary called Supergirl."

I chuckled, enjoying my sassy little girl. Supergirl turned out to be pretty bad in my opinion, but Sia seemed to enjoy it.

As we settled and I sipped a very nice red wine that gave me a subtle buzz, Sia slipped down and wormed her feet between my legs, edging up until coldness filtered through my jeans. No slouch, I wormed my cold bare foot up her thigh. She shivered, withdrew her feet and kicked at mine. A game of footsie ensued. With small nudges, I tickled her bare thigh. Her foot tried to shove me away. Eventually she tossed the Afghan blanket over both our legs. Warmth arrived. Her foot nudged higher until it was pressed to my groin. My foot eased up a silky thigh.

Suddenly, it registered - Sia was not wearing pants! She lifted one leg to let my foot press against her, lowering her leg to trap me, and I realized I was actually pressing against her soft cotton panties, warm and exciting. I was touching my daughter's panties!

Damn.

My love of ladies' underthings took over and an erection formed. A small foot gently explored the development bringing even more excitement. Without thought I pressed my sole to Sia's pussy and moved it slightly, a side-to-side motion, a caress. With that action, I moved way beyond casual familiarity into deliberate intimacy.

Sia, her attention on Supergirl, answered with a gentle, encouraging squeeze of her silky warm thighs and a slow foot rub against my erection. Man, it was erotic; just about the most arousing thing I'd experienced, the illicit, intimate contact strengthening the experience. It was so damned wrong and so damned exciting.

For several minutes, I caressed my daughter's pussy with the sole of my foot. I felt its contours, seemingly full, soft, seductive, her cotton panties slipping back and forth as I massaged. Sia, with her eyes on the television, rocked her foot gently, caressing my erection, building my arousal. I had a desperate desire to grab her, hug her, fondle and touch. Then I noticed her eyes closing.

With my foot gently rubbing her rather plump pussy, Sia's thighs started squeezing my foot. A rhythm emerged. Her head lowered to rest on top of her arm on the armrest, eyes closed, her nostrils now flaring with deep inhalations.

I watched intently, my foot intimately caressing her, and noticed slight body tremors. Her foot stopped moving against my erection. She twitched and undulated her hips slightly in counterpoint to my foot. Not two minutes later a soft whisper emerged, a quiet gasp, "Daddy," and, to my utter amazement, my sweet daughter shook, eyes squeezed shut. She trembled, her thighs tightening against my foot, gripping me with each pulse of ecstasy hitting her as she climaxed. It was stunning. It was sweet. It was beautiful to see my daughter in the clutch of such bliss.

Far too soon she calmed, breath settling. A rosy flush emerged on her face, her eyes still closed. Suddenly, despite my erection, I worried she'd feel embarrassed at what we'd just done. I couldn't let that happen, just couldn't.

Withdrawing my foot from her crotch, I leaned over and reached for her hand. "Sweetheart, would it be okay if we cuddled? I'd like to hold you," I said softly, tugging her hand.

Despite her blush, she smiled, opening her beautiful eyes, one sky blue, one dark hazel. I returned her smile and tugged her hand again. Sia rolled across to me as I slipped down on the couch. Guiding her, we spooned. My arms wrapped around her. I held my daughter tight and nuzzled her hair, inhaling her scent deeply, sighing silently. At peace, despite a raging erection, I whispered, "Love you, honey."

She held my arms. "Love you too, Dad."

Extreme arousal blurs better sense. It fogs the mind, floods it with endorphins, and makes otherwise dangerous behavior seem eminently acceptable. It did with me.

After ten or fifteen minutes of quiet repose, Sia shuffled back against me, her delectable compact bottom pressing to my groin. My erection hadn't subsided and the pressure of her buttocks felt wonderful. Her slender body, now in my arms, aroused me as well, so sweet and petite. But, even better was when, with gentle persuasion, she took my hand and guided it. Suddenly, I cupped a delightfully diminutive breast, my daughter's adolescent breast. On our sides, spooning together, her small breast felt firm under my hand. I could tell she had no bra, her breast yielding seductively to my uncontrollable caress, exploring its amazing shape. With the scent of her hair filling my nose, flowery, so young and fresh, I shuddered when, through her sweatshirt, I actually felt my daughter's nipple respond; a small, firm bead forming. It felt as though I was drowning. I was falling off a cliff, vertigo hitting. I couldn't believe how beautiful, how sensual, how erotic it was to hold my daughter so intimately.

The sweetness of her climax kept echoing through my mind, my erection straining, precum leaking as I marveled at her youthful sexuality. Gently fondling her petite breast was an exercise in eroticism, so damned arousing. Where would this newfound intimacy lead? How would it change our lives? And, more importantly, how far could it go without damaging our father-daughter relationship? It was undiscovered country. Did I want to explore it?

Yes. That was the simple answer. Horny as heck, I couldn't imagine anything better, or anything I wanted more. I didn't question my reaction or acceptance of this illicit turn in our lives, but . . . was this really fair to Sia?

That thought stopped me, brought rationality back. I might not care about myself but I cared about Sia more than anyone in the world. Was she mature enough to handle this?

It was a shock when I noticed the time. Somehow. we'd cuddled until ten o'clock. It was another shock when I realized Sia had fallen asleep in my arms. The prospect of waking her made me hesitate. I still sported an erection, now comfortably nestled into the valley of her buttocks. I still held an amazing little breast. I was still inhaling her sweet, innocent, young girl scent. Nevertheless, Monday was a school day. She had to go to bed.

"Sweetheart," I whispered into her hair. "It's bedtime."

With much grumbling, my darling daughter extricated herself from my arms. Her hair was mussed and tangled and lovely. She frowned then smiled shyly, bent over and kissed my cheek, her lips lingering.

"Night, Dad."

That night it took no time at all for me to experience my own orgasm. I had an encyclopedia of sensations to replay that intensified my pleasure. I fell asleep wishing Sia was with me, cuddling with me in bed.

Chapter Four

Minor fears and some trepidation entered my life in the following week. To all outward appearances, our relationship was its usual one. Yet, there was a subtle change, a hesitancy in our interactions that had never been there before. Neither of us talked about Sunday night. In truth, in the harsh light of day, I was nervous about openly discussing it. Sia was slightly more subdued, her beautiful eyes full of questions I couldn't answer. I worried about how to start the discussion we now needed to have. Actually, I feared the discussion. I'd always feared having conversations that would hurt Sia and this one could be a game changer if mishandled.

SIA LISTENED TO ROBIN talking about her latest crush as they sat in the cafeteria, mid-Friday. Her mind wasn't really in it. Other thoughts had been preoccupying her all week. Namely, Dad.

She was still stunned at the intensity of her climax with him. It had rocked her world, so much stronger than anything she'd achieved on her own. But the flush of warmth, the affection she felt, was strongest when remembering cuddling with him after. He'd been so loving, so soft and warm and secure, so accepting. It made her heart flutter every time she thought about it. She wanted to cuddle again, every night. The memory of his gentle caress of her breast, such a sharp contrast to Jim's painful immature grasping at the dance, made her body tingle, her nipples responding, areolae becoming sensitive. Sia especially appreciated Dad's restraint. She'd felt his erection against her buttocks, a sign of his arousal. Yet he'd done nothing, simply satisfied to hold her. Somehow, that made Dad seem even more caring. Was that the difference between high school guys and mature men? If so, why would any girl want to be with a teen guy? She didn't.

As Jasmin added to the conversation around the table, Sia's mind drifted to more important problems. Well, really one problem. She wanted to talk to Dad about what had happened, but couldn't find her usual gumption to start the conversation. The truth was she felt insecure. She didn't know where they stood now. Dad, aside from tighter hugs, seemed slightly off. It wasn't anything she could define but it was there, as if he was worried about her. She wasn't worried about what had happened. She liked it. She felt different, more grown-up, mature. She felt yearnings and desires for more, for things she'd never given much thought to. She wanted to not only repeat Sunday night but do more, explore these new sensations, see if she could bring pleasure to Dad, that thought exciting her a lot.

But how? If Dad never broached the subject, should she? Could she? Did she have the courage to overcome her shyness with this new intimacy?

With a sigh, Sia considered the alternative; not speaking up, not talking, not experiencing that intimacy again. No. She had to have a talk with him.

"What are you sighing about?" Lara asked, her eyes inquisitive. "You've been gone all week. How come?" After a brief pause her eyes opened wide. "Oh m'God! Who is he?"

Sia laughed. "Who's who?"

"The boy you're mooning over! It isn't Jim, is it? I thought the kick in his balls meant you didn't like him."

Robin leaned in. "Maybe that was Sia's way of saying she likes him. Was it?"

"You're both nuts!" Sia exclaimed with another laugh.

Distracted, the conversation moved to other boys, their clothes, who was hot, who was not. Lunch flew by. After school, at home, Sia wandered around, restless, waiting for Dad to come home from work. She started some homework and couldn't concentrate. Leaving it, she started cleaning last night's dirty dishes. The silence got to her. Moving to the living room, she turned on the television and found music on the Apple TV, turning it up loud before returning to the kitchen.

Sia regularly checked the kitchen wall clock. Time seemed to crawl. Dad was always home at five-thirty, but five-thirty seemed so far away. His job as manager of the town's water treatment plant, processing and purifying water for all of the town's one-thousand-plus homes, was not that exciting but it meant he was as regular as clockwork.

Finishing the dishes, Sia wandered back into the living room. It was empty without Dad's presence. Her eyes glanced at the couch and she reacted, immediately, a spike of arousal, desire, her nipples puckering at the memory of Sunday night.

With a frown, Sia's determination strengthened.

The sound of the front door opening intruded on her thoughts.

"Dad! You're home!"

THE SOUND OF PLEASURE in my daughter's voice made me smile. Before I had my parka off, Sia arrived and grabbed me in a big hug. Warmth flushed through me. I hugged her, bent and inhaled the scent of her thick hair. Just lovely.

"How was work? What's for dinner?" she asked, finally releasing me.

I grinned slightly. "If you can get me a Coke, I'll change," I informed her.

"Kay. But what's for dinner?"

"Food," I replied heading for the bedroom. After washing up, I stripped down to my underwear and hunted through the dresser for something to wear.

Sia entered with a can of pop. "Here," she said, offering the can to me.

"Thanks."

Without asking, my daughter started digging through the dresser. She tugged out a faded red T-shirt handing it to me. As I pulled it on, smiling at how she was selecting my wardrobe, she passed me a pair of soft, pale grey sweat pants. Dressed, I followed her into the kitchen, parking myself at the old oak table.

"Thanks for washing the dishes," I commented, noticing her contribution, a relatively rare event. "Avoiding homework?" I asked.

"Nope . . . Well maybe," Sia admitted, adding quickly, "But there isn't much to study. I'll do it tomorrow."

"That's what you always say but somehow you end up leaving it until it's almost too late." With a smile I suggested, "You'll feel much better if you get it out of the way."

Sia rose to fish into the refrigerator for a Coke without acknowledging my suggestion. She sat down, popped the tab, took a sip, and studied me with those mystical eyes. I saw hesitancy. I saw questions float through them. I saw a daughter unsure of the ground she was walking on.

It was time. Taking my own advice about getting things out of the way, I took a deep breath and broached the elephant in the room.

"What happened last weekend . . . I want you to know how much . . . I . . ."

Sia eyes widened, her attention riveted on me. I tried again.

"Sia, honey, I loved what we experienced last weekend."

Sia sighed and smiled in relief. "Me, too, Dad."

"I'm glad. But . . . Well, it was probably wrong for us to have done that." She opened her mouth to respond so I continued before she could say anything. "You're mature for your age and I'm so proud of you, but the type of intimacy we experienced isn't good for you. You know as well as I do that it's frowned upon in society. If anyone discovered what we've done it would ruin your life."

Sia interrupted. "But how would they find out? And wouldn't it ruin both our lives?"

"I only care about your life, honey."

Sia studied me, a sky blue eye and hazel eye staring at me. The intensity of her gaze reminded me of a cat studying a mouse.

"Did you really like what happened, Dad?" she asked.

"More than you'll ever know," I answered. Being honest was the least I could do for her.

"You said I was mature for my age. Did you mean that?"

"Yes."

"Do you care about what I want?" she asked.

"Always."

Sia started talking. She told me about her dance, the disappointment with Jim Prentice, his behavior, how having a tongue shoved into her mouth wasn't what she'd expected from her first kiss; her news making me hate Jim "the asshole" Prentice intensely. She informed me that what we'd done together was amazing, a small blush emerging highlighting her pale freckles when she admitted to dreaming about repeating it, how it had been the best feeling ever.

With a slightly softer voice, she looked at me deeply and added, "I wouldn't mind if we, perhaps, did some things together," adding quickly, "If you want."

Lordy I wanted! I felt my response in my pants. I felt that first tingling of excitement, arousal, and desire for her. Tamping it down, I spoke.

"I love that you'd like to, honey. I'll be honest, I'd like to explore this aspect of our relationship, too. But, the risks are so high. I can't see how we could keep it between us and not have it uncovered by anyone else. All it would take is a slip of the tongue, a casual comment, and we'd be in real trouble."

"Dad, give me credit! I know how to keep my mouth shut."

I smiled slightly. True, she wasn't a gossip, but she was vocal, opinionated, and strong willed, traits I cherished in her.

"It's not just keeping your mouth closed," I said. "It's behavior, too."

Sia considered. "I don't see the problem. If I behave like I love my dad, how does that seem odd to anyone?"

"Well, it could be an inappropriate touch, or an unconscious caress."

Sia snorted her disagreement. "As if. I'm not stupid. I told you that."

I'll freely admit the illicit attraction I now held for Sia was a huge influence in my consideration. I was intensely attracted to her. It helped that I knew her better than any other person in the world; better than myself, even. It helped that in her youth, her slenderness, her spectacular emerging pubescence, I saw a young Soraya - what my wife would have been like at her age - and it was electrifying to consider an intimate relationship developing; full intimacy. Thrilling.

"Okay. If you promise to do your best to keep it a secret, promise to tell me if you ever want to stop or not do something and . . ."

"I promise!" Sia interrupted, a magnificent smile emerging, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

Holding up my palm, I continued, smiling slightly, "I'm not finished. If you promise to clean the house, do the laundry, wash the dishes . . ."

"Daaad!"

With a grin, I continued, ". . . and you promise to give me a kiss, then I'd love for us to explore our relationship."

Sia jumped up from her seat smiling brightly and came to me. I welcomed my daughter with open arms. Calm descended as she studied my face. Silence fell, the kitchen wall clock ticking away. A small smile appeared, a satisfied smile, the one that she'd get when she'd won an argument with me. I studied her mouth, her lips, the dusting of freckles on her cheekbones, and then her eyes, enchanting, beguiling, mismatched eyes. Her face neared mine. I caught her scent, light, flowery, pure sweetness.

Her eyes closed. Lips touched slowly. Electricity pulsed through me. Sia lips were soft and warm as they pressed to mine. The kiss was sexy yet sweetly chaste; lips closed, lingering, my erection now complete. Jesus, I was kissing my daughter!

As she pulled away breaking contact, the most beautiful blush spread on her cheeks. She smiled, eyes twinkling.

"That's what I wanted my first kiss to be like," she said, and then bent in for another.

Somehow, she turned and sat in my lap; such a slender, young girl, so sexy, so arousing. The kiss lasted only a few seconds when her eyes popped open.

She wiggled in my lap. "Are you . . . Is that . . .?"

I smiled. "That's a powerful kiss you have."

Sia smiled with pride. "Thanks! What's for dinner?" she added, standing up.

"Friday night? How does pizza sound?"

"Yum. I'm hungry! You order. I'm gonna change."

As Sia left the kitchen, I admired her compact butt and wondered what it was going to feel like to caress it, hold it in my hands, fondle it. Very exciting indeed.

SIA UNDRESSED QUICKLY AND headed to the bathroom for a shower. She needed it. Her whole body tingled, perspiration under her arms from the excitement. She could feel the gusset of her panties sticking to her, damp from arousal, and just from a kiss! She smiled to herself. God, Dad was a good kisser. He actually made her heart race!

Stepping into the shower, Sia felt the excitement in her body, the thrum of blood, her small breasts pleasantly aching and feeling fuller. She remembered Dad caressing one last weekend, his gentle touch, and how his thumb teased her nipple into a hard bead. A flush of arousal pulsed through her pussy. This was just so exciting! What would they do next? How far would Dad and she go?

Another thought struck her bringing a surge of excitement. Would Dad let her sleep in his bed with him? What would that be like? To smell him all night, feel him close, to cuddle all night! Wow! Maybe she'd ask.

AFTER PAYING THE PIZZA delivery boy, I set dinner up in the living room, the television turned on. While waiting for Sia I started a fire. Despite the storm having passed, the temperature outside was frigid enough to freeze nose hair. Our inadequate insulation let cool drafts inside. The fire waged a thermal war against them.

Sia arrived, clad in a big T-shirt, mine, and pale pink sweats, her feet bare, eyes sparking, hair still damp and darker, almost raven, pulled into a high ponytail.

In short order, she was on her end of the couch, the Afghan blanket covering her curled up legs, the TV remote in one hand, and a slice of pizza in the other. As she flicked through the channels, I took a bite of mine. It was delicious; still hot, gooey with stringy cheese, flavorful tomato sauce, and delightfully spicy Italian salami. A sip of ice cold Brooklyn Brewery Lager cleared my palate with a mellow, subtle flavor leaving a tail of malt. It was a perfect pizza beer.

With Sia settling on a marathon of Modern Family, I sat back and relaxed. Anticipation without feelings of guilt added excitement to the evening. We ate in comfortable silence, no urgency evident. Eventually the pizza was finished. I stretched out on the couch, full and warm and satisfied. Sia was on her iPhone, probably checking Facebook. I watched TV, chuckling. Modern Family was a marvelously written show.

"How often did you and Mom make love?" Sia asked out of the blue. "It says here that couples who have been married more than ten years only make love once or twice a week. Is that true?"

I had to chuckle. It was such a strange question coming from my daughter and yet it wasn't. Sia had never been shy of asking awkward questions. Perhaps she didn't consider them awkward. As it happens, Soraya and I had had a very satisfying love life, full of adventure and experimentation. Our lovemaking ranged from rambunctious sex to gentle loving, each orgasm beautiful and satisfying in its own way.

"Maybe a bit more frequent than that," I answered.

"How frequent?"

I smiled. "Frequent enough to satisfy us both."

"Huh."

A minute later, she spoke again. "How many lovers have you had since Mom died?"

"None that come to mind."

"You mean you haven't had sex in eight years?" Sia asked, turning on the couch to face me, her iPhone in one hand.

I laughed. "I said no lovers, not no sex."

"Is it different?"

"Yes, very."

"How?"

"I thought you got all your answers to sex on the Internet. What does it say?" I asked.

"Nothing much. But I think maybe the Internet doesn't have all the answers."

"Really? Like what?"

Sia frowned in thought. "Well, as an example, it didn't tell me just how different kisses could be."

A pause was followed by, "And I was wondering what the difference between sex and making love is. So what's the difference?"

"Emotion," I informed her, smiling slightly.

"That doesn't explain it, Dad," my insistent daughter countered.

I said nothing. All too soon Sia used her feet to shove at me. "C'mon. Tell," she urged.

"Sia, my love, the physical aspects of love are the same for everyone. We have the same erogenous zones, the same responses, and while each person has their own personal turn-ons, they aren't unique. What distinguishes casual sex from making love is the emotional connection between the partners."

Sia considered it. "So, if I've got this right, your kiss was much better than Jim's because I love you? Wait. No. He stuck his tongue in my mouth."

With a grin, I clarified. "Using tongues when kissing, French kissing, is very erotic. But, when it's unexpected, or you don't like the guy enough - an emotional connection - it feels somewhat disgusting."

"Well, yeah," my darling daughter said. "That means, since I'm emotional with you, you being my dad and all, if we kissed and used tongues I'd like it?"

I felt a stirring in my pants. "Don't know about you, but I might enjoy it."

"Wanna try?"

"Eventually. We'll get there. Don't rush. It'll be better that way."

"Huh. Kay."

"How 'bout now?" Sia asked two minutes later. "Wanna practice?" she emphasized the question with a foot shove.

I laughed. Damn she was cute at times. I wondered how long I could string her out. "Not yet."

"You're a coward," she announced, playing her fake pout card on me.

We relaxed in an easy silence, watching TV. At one point Sia's foot wriggled between my legs. She threw the Afghan blanket over both of us. My foot eased up the backsides of her legs. In an accommodating move, Sia lifted a leg and my sole settled against her pussy.

Our new, sexy game of footsie began. It started by me pressing my foot against her pussy, feeling the sensual mounded shape through her sweat pants. I caressed her gently, side-to-side, then pressed firmly. Sia responded by tightening her thighs. A minute later a thirteen-year-old foot probed my crotch and discovered I was already turned-on with a partial erection. Her foot gently stroked it into a full, arousing, exciting erection.

Satisfied, the minx stopped moving. For the next ten minutes or so, we played a game. If she teased my erection, I teased her pussy. If she stopped, I stopped. But, if she waited long enough I initiated a move. All the intimate play drove up my desire for my daughter, for sweet release.

Enough was enough.

I sat up, feet back on the floor. Sia looked surprised until I said, "Come here. I want to kiss you," offering her my hand. She smiled with success, a smile that grew bashful when I had her straddle my lap, her knees to my side.

It was a perfect position. Sia, still slow in maturing, was light on me, slender, so sweet. Her eyes twinkled before she bent her head, her hands on my shoulders. As our lips touched, I slipped my hands down her back to cup two gorgeous buttocks, each a perfect handful. My erection surged. A moan escaped.

I didn't even try to restrain my desires. They were too powerful. As Sia's eyes closed, as her head tilted, as her soft warm lips pressed against mine, I teased her with the tip of my tongue, just a touch on her lips. The effect was astonishing. Sia moaned, pressed her lips to mine, and for the first time, I felt the tip of her tongue touch my lips. It was intense. It was arousing. Then it got better.

Tongues touched. I probed gently. Sia's mouth slowly opened. Suddenly I was French kissing my young daughter. Sia writhed in my lap, her crotch finding my erection. She pressed her pussy against my shaft and humped. Her sweet buttocks flexed in my hand, tensing and relaxing. Her tongue became aggressive, following my retreating tongue into my mouth. Sweet, clean breath wafted from her nose to brush against my cheek, small murmurs attesting to her arousal.

I drowned in my daughter humping against me. Her pussy rubbed up and down my shaft bringing rising excitement, arousal, heat.

The kiss deepened, tongues moving, caressing, loving. Letting one buttock go, I brought my hand up between us and gently cupped her petite breast over the T-shirt. It was firm, unfettered by a bra, so small and absolutely perfect.

Sia groaned into my mouth. I teased a nipple with the pad of my thumb and Sia's movements became harder, more urgent, moving faster, humping my erection, her breath panting through her nose. When I squeezed her breast, Sia gasped. The kiss broke. Her forehead fell to my shoulder, her pussy rubbing my shaft, humping firmly, pressing harder against my erection, encouraged by my hand on her buttock.

Sweet music took me to the peak, my daughter's whispered sigh, "Daddy," her body pausing for a second. A shudder shook through her, breath held. A cute grunt followed and my child shuddered and humped, the full force of her climax taking her away into ecstasy. I let myself go, wrapped her in my arms, and holding her writhing body tight my orgasm hit. Like a threatening avalanche, pressure built. Release was explosive, a burst of utter bliss. "Sia," I gasped as hot, wet semen spurted into my boxers. Before I could inhale, another massive wave hit, cum exploding, ecstasy slamming into me. My orgasm took control. With my face buried against my daughter's lovely neck, her sweet, innocent scent filling my lungs, I held my darling tight and came, hunching, spurting, pleasure pounding me, Sia grunting her bliss in my ear. Semen flooded my boxers, each strong pulse bringing glorious relief, cumming, cock throbbing until the wave crested and passed, my heart racing.

Calm slowly returned. Sound from the television returned. Sia was panting, her body limp in my arms. I could feel her heart beating hard through her back. A flush of love filled me. Thinking back, I couldn't remember ever having experienced an orgasm this way; dressed, dry humping, sitting up.

Sia nuzzled her face into my neck. It felt good, sexy. No, it felt wonderful. We'd crossed a line into blatant intimacy, our kissing somehow making it more personal, more loving.

"I felt you, Dad," Sia whispered.

With a chuckle I confessed. "Yup. I made a right old mess."

Sia laughed silently, her body shaking. "I'm a bit messy, too," she admitted.

That thought rushed through my brain triggering all sorts of interesting speculation. I might have interrogated her but semen was cooling and becoming uncomfortable.

"What say you we clean up and go to bed?" I suggested.

"Kay."

It was easy to stand with Sia still in my arms. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her face still nuzzled to my neck. However, turning off the lights and television proved problematic; my little girl clinging to me like a limpet mine and giggling at my quiet oaths.

It didn't cross my mind to do anything but carry Sia into her bedroom and lower her to the bed and kiss her forehead. She rolled onto her side and curled up.

"Get cleaned up and ready for bed," I suggested.

Sia grumbled behind me when I left her room. I wondered if she'd ever want to sleep in my bed. What would it be like to have her snuggled up to me all night?

The cooling damp mess in my boxers didn't feel good, but the memory of how it got that way made my blood sing. I could feel a rather silly grin on my face, too. I was a lucky sod.

Chapter Five

Saturday was wonderful. We were busy with real chores. Sia was full of bright smiles and hugs and, amazing me, accepted her chores with only minimal complaints. Occasionally she'd stop by for a chaste kiss, her lips so soft and warm. I took those moments to inhale her scent deeply and hug her rather fiercely. Just wonderful.

The afternoon was taken with a slog to the supermarket, battling though snowdrifts. Sia had bribed me to drop her off at the local mall to meet up with her friends, assuring me, "Don't worry, Dad, I won't buy anything and Lara's mom will drive me home." Her rather intense smooch successfully bribed me.

By three-thirty I was back home, puttering around, applying silicone sealant around the window frames in the living room. Music played softly, a lazy jazz, Nat King Cole's smooth, rich voice filling the room. I enjoyed humming along as I made a mess of the weather sealant.

Anticipation is a strange emotion, I decided. It's full of mystery and imagination, expectation, the thrill of the unknown. I anticipated so much. There were so many new feelings coursing through me, so many new experiences to come. I wondered what Sia would look like in panties and bra, my imagination very active. Did her clothes hide unseen curves? She was a late bloomer, most of her friends well along in adolescence. She'd inherited it from her mother; that same willowy figure, small bust, petite stature - thirteen years old and still less than five feet tall. True, her five feet had as much sass as any five-nine woman, maybe more.

I wondered what type of bra and panties she had. In the last two years, she'd assumed the laundry duty so I really had no idea, but my imagination was very active.

My mind moseyed down the road of intimacy and I tried to picture my newly pubescent girl. Would she have a pubic bush? Would her areolae be dark pink, almost dusky brown like her mother's or pale? Did she have small nipples or large?

A vision of her butt in jeans came to mind and I wondered how glorious it would look in skimpy panties. Reaching down, I adjusted the erection that had formed. I imagined kissing each buttock and caressing them. Damn! I had to stop. My jeans were becoming uncomfortable.

To distract myself I quit the caulking job and turned to the television for a decent documentary.

Mid way through learning about how Lucky Luciano - considered the father of organized crime - had brought a business approach to the Cosa Nostra, creating the first commission of Dons, a skill I quite admired, the phone rang.

"You're late," I said as soon as I answered it.

"Mr. Hicks?" a calm, youngish voice asked.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"I'm Constable Peters. I'm calling to let you know your daughter, Sia, has been involved in an accident."

The floor dropped out of my world. Sounds from the television seemed to fade away. An image of Sia at five years old materialized. My heart rate spiked, breathing became immediately difficult.

"Mr. Hicks? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," I managed to respond, my voice sounding rough even to me. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's fine. Mrs. Landers car was involved in an altercation with another speeding driver. She and her daughter Lara are with your daughter at the hospital. Perhaps you'd like to head on over there."

You're fucking right I'd like! "I'll be right there," I growled.

In our small town, the hospital was a one-floor sprawling ranch-style. The pickup skidded into a parking spot sideways taking up the space of two. I didn't give a fuck. Heart racing, fear hounding me, I ran straight into the emergency entrance to find Sia sitting in a green plastic chair in the waiting room; Mrs. Landers sitting on one side, Lara on the other.

"Jesus, Sia," I exclaimed, seeing one ankle bandaged and another bandage over her blue eye. "What the Hell happened?"

"Hi, Dad!" Sia greeted me, smiling brightly. "We had an accident!"

Mrs. Landers stood up from the seat next to Sia as I approached. My anxiety was still ratcheted up.

"Hello, Mr. Hicks," she said, smiling slightly, an apologetic expression on her face, and extending her hand towards me.

I shook it briefly trying to peer around her at my daughter who now seemed to be in deep conversation with Lara.

"What happened? Are you and Lara all right?" I asked distractedly, relieved when I heard Sia's peal of laughter.

"We're fine. Some idiot T-boned us and shoved us into a telephone pole," Mrs. Landers informed me. "Sia hit her head on the window rather hard, but we're still trying to figure out how she twisted her ankle."

"Huh. Glad you're both fine," I muttered. "Excuse me."

I stepped around her and approached my daughter. Bright eyes excited by the events looked up at me. She grinned.

"Look!" she instructed, pointing at her foot. "It's so swollen I can't fit it in my sneaker."

Kneeling, I took her bandaged foot and ankle, inspecting it, holding it gently. True it didn't look life threatening but she was my little girl. Any injury was a worry.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"Yup. But they told me I could take a painkiller for it later." A glint appeared in her eyes. "They cut my sneaker to remove it. Maybe you should buy me a new pair."

Before I could refuse, Dr. Anston, a lady about my age, arrived.

"How are you feeling, Sia?" she asked.

"Sore but fine."

"That's good. Mr. Hicks, could I have a word?"

We stepped away, Sia immediately in a deep, animated conversation with Lara.

In a slightly more serious tone of voice, with her back to my daughter, Dr. Anston said, "Mr. Hicks, your daughter suffered a mild concussion." Noticing my wince she continued quickly, "It's nothing serious but she was somewhat disoriented when they brought her in. We haven't given her a painkiller for her sprained ankle because we want to make sure she's okay." She paused and studied me with intelligent dark brown eyes. "Normally we'd keep her in overnight for observation, but in my judgment she's fine. You should check on her every couple of hours tonight just to be sure. If there's no change by tomorrow morning, feel free to give her some Extra Strength Tylenol."

I glanced at Sia and then back at Dr Anston. "You sure?"

She smiled in reassurance. "Quite sure."

"Thank you."

Dr. Anston nodded and left.

Half an hour later, Sia struggled with crutches as she made her way into our house. She'd refused my offer to carry her informing me, "I can do it myself."

It was seven-twenty and pitch dark. Despite her objection, Sia reluctantly changed into pajamas and hobbled to the couch. I offered dinner.

"I'm not that hungry," she informed me.

"I'll make you soup and a sandwich. Okay?" She seemed a bit tired. Then again, after the adrenaline rush from an accident, I wasn't surprised.

"Kay."

However, by the time I was back with her meal, Sia had slouched down on the couch. She spooned the beef barley soup - her favorite - with little enthusiasm and, before even half of it was consumed, her eyelids started drooping.

She must have been exhausted. She didn't complain when I picked her up and carried her to her room, just snuggled against me.

With a kiss on her forehead, she mumbled something and was asleep before I closed her door.

Back in the living room, I sipped a pale ale and tried to calm down. There are terrible things that happen to people. There had been some traumatic things I'd experienced in my life, but none, not one, had hit me as hard as hearing my daughter had been hurt. It wasn't just a fatherly reaction. I'd felt terror. I'd seen a world without Sia in it and the barren emptiness was horrifying.

Like almost every father, I wished I could suffer for her. That was normal. I silently thanked a God I didn't really believe in for Sia not being hurt even worse.

It took me a couple of hours to finally relax. Like Sia, adrenaline had done its work. I was ready for bed. Remembering Dr. Anston's advice, I dropped by to check on her.

Sia's room was dark, only a shadowed mound under a quilt indicating where she slept. I eased over to her, bent, and whispered, "How're you feeling?"

She was asleep. No response. Shaking her shoulder gently, I tried again. No response. This time I shook hard, relieved when she stirred.

"Da. Sh tha you?"

Why was she slurring? "It's me. How are you feeling, honey? I asked.

"Hea hurs," she mumbled.

"What?" I asked, trying to understand her.

My daughter didn't respond. Nothing. It was as if she'd drifted back to sleep. I thought that was good, at first. But the more I thought about it the more worried I became. Switching the bedside lamp on, a soft yellow glow brought Sia's face into view. I shook her without a response. She was very pale. Prying an eyelid up, I felt like I'd been electrocuted. Her pupil was dilated. Fuck!

Without thought, I gathered her up, quilt and all. Without pausing to call for an ambulance, I ran for the pickup. I swore at it when it debated whether or not to start. "Start you useless piece of . . .". The engine coughed into life. Streets passed in a blur. Were slurring and dilated eyes conditions Dr. Anston had warned me about? Why couldn't I remember?

Wrestling the sodding Ford out of a skid, one eye on Sia, I turned into the hospital and slammed to a halt at the emergency entrance.

The next few hours were somewhat jumbled. Sia had been wrestled away from me. I'd been deliberately excluded from the exam. A sudden flurry of activity erupted; Sia being carted out of the emergency room on her examining bed.

I tried to follow only to be forcefully redirected. My life fell apart as I waited, my mind playing dark and terrifying games, what if . . .

One hour after arriving, a kind nurse informed me emergency surgery was needed to relieve the swelling of Sia's brain. Another agonizing hour passed before Dr. Anston emerged in her blue scrubs. Her smile was as tired as she looked.

I jumped up. Before I could open my mouth, Dr. Anston spoke, her hand rising, palm up.

"Your daughter is fine. She's under anesthetic right now and resting. Before you ask, we removed a small piece of her cranium to relieve the pressure on her brain . . ."

I just about wept at the thought.

Dr. Anston continued, ". . . and it was successful."

"How do you know?" I asked with far too much force. "You said she'd be fine last time!"

Dr. Anston studied me with her dark brown eyes. I could see she forgave my rudeness. "Sia's eyes are responding to light, dilating properly. That indicates the pressure has subsided. I'm not telling you she'll be fully recovered in the morning, but she will be well."

"Sorry. Thanks. I mean . . . I didn't mean to be . . . Can I see her?"

Why do injured children look smaller in bed? I pondered that as I sat at Sia's side holding a warm, delicate hand. Why do their hands seem more fragile, their features so much younger, and appear so vulnerable? My daughter did.

And why did the sight of her head swathed in white bandages make me hurt? Around me, the hospital was quiet. It was just past two in the morning. A health monitor beeped regularly next to her, an LED display giving me a constant update on her vitals. My attention moved from her pretty face to the LED display as if it was the only sign my daughter was alive, my reassurance that her stillness as she slept was just that; sleep.

Sia was the one who woke me up. Somehow, despite knowing I'd never sleep again until she was better, at home and with me, my head had dropped to her bed while I held onto her hand and I'd fallen asleep.

"Daddy?" she whispered.

I opened my eyes that Sunday morning to see Sia's sky blue and hazel brown eyes looking at me. Relief swept through me. Despite the doctor's assurances, despite the LED signs of life, it was seeing my daughter awake that brought relief and I cried, silently, tears slipping out as I smiled.

"Hey you," I said softly. "You scared me."

Without moving, Sia asked, "Where am I?"

It was the start of a long week. The doctor insisted Sia remain in hospital, refusing my offer to look after her at home and even pay for a private nurse. It was the right decision. Sia suffered from minor amnesia and occasional headaches that made her eyes water. She was kept in a dark room and had nothing to do but rest. By Thursday, the bandages were removed, Sia had seemingly recovered her short-term memories and no longer had headaches. I was quite surprised by how little hair had been shaved to drill into her brain; only a silver Dollar size that was easily hidden by brushing her hair.

When Sia started complaining about being cooped up and reminding me I had to buy her another pair of sneakers, "I saw a really great pair in the mall, Dad," I knew she was recovered.

Friday was the break-out-of-hospital day. The sky wasn't blue and cloudless with the sun shining bright enough to hurt the eyes. Nope. There was a full-on winter storm dumping several feet of snow, making traffic crawl at a snail's pace, backends of cars slipping and sliding, windshield wipers struggling to keep up, windscreens fogging, and it was so damned cold the hair in my ears froze and my penis retreated so far I had a foreskin despite being circumcised.

It was the best day of my life!

It was wonderful being home. The house had felt empty without Sia and had seemed bigger, echoing her absence at me through the past week. In celebration, I planned a Star Wars movie marathon after a delicious dinner of blackened salmon served with crispy-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside rösti potatoes, a delicious sour cream and diced spring onion sauce, lemon wedges, and a crisp iceberg lettuce salad.

I sipped a white wine, a bright, dry Chardonnay from Woodward Canyon Winery in Washington State as I prepared dinner. With it chilled to perfection, it was almost too good; liquid ambrosia.

The kitchen light cast enough illumination to see ten feet into the back yard. Snow swirled in big white flakes adding another coating to the still-pristine layer covering the ground. It looked very inviting, reminding me of the joy of diving into snow banks as a kid, and snow angels, and laughter as I pelted my wife with snowballs.

Sia interrupted my daydreaming.

"Dad, I've thought about it and I have ten reasons why you should let me sleep in your bed tonight," she announced from the kitchen doorway.

"Ten, huh? What are they?" I asked, turning towards her.

"Number one," she said holding up an index finger, "It's cold at night and two bodies stay warm better.

"Number two: you're getting older and the Internet says older people get colder faster.

"Number three: I might have a relapse from my concussion. Being in your bed will be safer.

"Number four: we can save electricity by turning the temperature . . ."

I smiled and tuned Sia out. I'd decided she could sleep in my bed from the moment she started talking. I wanted her there and I wanted to keep an eye on her. But she reminded me of something. My mind drifted way back: Sia, five years old.

She'd stood in front of me, her dark hair shorter and curlier, a serious expression on her cute face. In one hand, she held a newspaper flyer full of toys, her finger pointing to a page.

"Daddy, I have ten reasons why you want to buy this trike for me."

"Ten, huh? What are they?" I'd asked, setting aside the morning newspaper.

In a serious tone, Sia had started. "Number one, it's pretty. Number two, it has three wheels, see?" her finger pointing. "Number three, I like it. Number . . . Number . . ."

"Four," I'd offered.

"Uh-huh. Four. It's pretty! So can I have it?"

Laughing to myself, I'd pointed out she'd only offered four reasons, not ten.

"Number ten, it's pink! I like pink! So can I?"

She'd totally charmed me. Of course, Soraya had my number and had told Sia to discuss it with me. She got the tricycle that night.

"And lastly, number ten: you'll like me keeping you company," my thirteen-year-old finished, bringing me back to the present. "What are your thoughts?"

She hadn't used the "ten reason" argument since Soraya passed away. Could the concussion have affected her?

"Okay."

Her eyes widened. "Really? Just like that?"

"Yup. Really. Just like that."

Sia grinned. "Great. You'll love it! Promise."

We lasted through three Star Wars movies, Sia sitting at my side; I needed her close. With her ankle still bandaged and sore, a game of footsie was out of the question, much to my regret. But, then again, she was going to sleep in my bed. What would that be like?

As she watched the movie, I pondered her behavior. The dinner had not been well received. Sia had sniffed the fish and decided she didn't like the smell. One taste and she confirmed it, "Yuck! What did you do to it, Dad?" and made herself a peanut butter and jam sandwich instead, something she hadn't liked in years.

Was that another side effect of the concussion? I had no idea but decided to ask Dr. Anston. I wondered what other surprises might be in store.

I found out that night. With Sia off getting changed, I went through my nightly ritual; brushed my teeth, peed, changed into pajama bottoms - I hated pajama tops, turned the thermostat down, folded and put away my clothes (not really. I left them in their usual, well-disorganized pile on the floor), turned the television on, and went to bed; my excitement mounting.

Sia paused at the bedroom door in her pink pajamas, the festive ones with snowmen all over them, her warm ones. She looked at me as if waiting for permission, worried I'd changed my mind. Her thick, wavy dark hair was lustrous, pulled back, and held in a band at the nape of her neck.

"So?" I said. "What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?"

She grinned. "Maaaybe," said cheekily. In a very lady-like way she hobbled over, lifted the quilt and slipped in.

SIA TRIED TO HIDE how much she was shaking. Part of her was nervous; would she and Dad do anything tonight? Part of her was excited; she was going to sleep with Dad! What would it be like to have someone else in bed with her? And another part of her was worried; what should she do? Snuggle to him or wait for Dad to make the first move? Would she make a mistake, embarrass herself or embarrass Dad?

She slipped into his bed carefully and sighed with relief when he reached for her and drew her to his side. His scent wafted at her, at once familiar and yet different. The bed smelled of him; spicy, warm, comforting.

"What do you want to watch?" he asked, his arm slipping around her shoulders.

She rolled into his side, her face finding the crook of his shoulder, and sighed silently. "Anything you want."

It felt so good to be cuddling to him. She didn't mind too much when he selected some documentary on the wild flowers of the Midwest plains; boring.

But then, then he smiled at her, butterflies emerging in her stomach. His warm brown eyes twinkled. His head bent. Was he going to kiss her?

He did!

Like her first kiss with him, it was gentle; a soft press of warm lips that lingered and lingered and lingered, so beautiful. Heat flushed through her all the way to her toes. Her sigh was louder when it ended. She snuggled closer.

"I'm glad you're here, honey," he whispered. "I couldn't be happier."

"Kay," Sia whispered.

A few moments of silence followed. She wondered if they'd do more. But, when nothing happened, she got bored with Midwestern wild flowers.

"Gimme the remote," she told him. Hunting through the channels, she settled on a rerun of Twilight.

"I wondered how long it would take you to change the channel," Dad observed.

When she glanced up at him, he was grinning. Then, well, then he kissed her again, another tender touch of lips, so perfect.

She tried to get closer to him. It wasn't possible. She settled with hooking her leg over his.

I LOOKED DOWN AT Sia after half an hour. She was sleeping peacefully, so beautiful in repose, her pretty features relaxed, small nostrils flaring with each breath, dark eyelashes inordinately long on her cheeks, the dusting of pale freckles muted. She was gorgeous. Her kisses had been so sweet, but the part I adored was her quiet sighs of contentment. They went straight to my heart.

Muting the television, I switched channels to the Terminator and slowly restored the sound. The combination of Sia and Arnie lulled me to sleep.

It was a couple of hours later when I woke up freezing my ass off. Sia had snuggled into a pillow and was buried under the quilt. She'd pulled the whole quilt over her, leaving me coverless.

As carefully as I could, I tugged the quilt back and covered myself. Not an hour later, I was freezing my ass off again. This wasn't quite what I'd imagined having my daughter sleep with me would be like. I'd had visions of snuggling together. Clearly, Sia wasn't an all-night snuggler. But that gave me an idea. With a gentle tug I spread the quilt over us both, moved Sia closer to me by rolling her, and cuddled up to her from behind. Damn she was cold!

Shivering only slightly, I let my body heat gradually displace her coldness. I hugged her as we spooned and found a side benefit to this new arrangement; Sia not only felt wonderful in my arms, so petite, but she smelled of sleep, a scent of warmth and flowers and sweet youth, unlike anything I had encountered before. I fell asleep with her aroma soothing me.

Chapter Six

A SHARP PAIN IN her ankle woke Sia with a start. She gasped. The stab of pain subsided. As it did, she became aware of her surroundings. At first, it was the smell that hit her; spicy, warm - Dad. She inhaled it deeply. He smelled different, his aroma more subdued, softer, subtler. Then, with pleasure suffusing her, she felt Dad cuddled up to her from behind, spooning her. He felt so large against her. She liked it. His arms hugged her loosely. She felt safe and cozy.

A spike of excitement hit her when she felt Dad's palm resting on her breast. His hand felt large, too. Warmth flooded her, a familiar first tingle of arousal. Careful not to wake him up, Sia placed her hand on the back of his and pressed his hand to her breast. Jeez it felt good. Soft arousal stayed with her, her nipple sensitive and aching for a caress. Heat blossomed in her pussy, seductive and exciting. She lay quietly, wanting this to last. This was way, way better than waking up alone!

Dad shifted.

"Ow!" Sia gasped, as his foot hit her ankle.

"Sorry," he mumbled into her hair. "What did I do?" His hug tightened.

"You kicked my ankle."

"Sorry."

She rolled to face him when he moved away. "Don't go yet," she begged. She liked how messy his hair was, an unruly mop of dark brown hair.

"Nature's calling," he said with a smile, bending to kiss her lips softly before rising.

"You're not much good as a cuddler!" she yelled at his disappearing back.

"You're not either. And you're a quilt thief!" echoed back to her.

Quilt thief? Really? No way! She wasn't a cover hog.

IN THE BATHROOM, I wondered if Sia had seen my partial erection. It was unavoidable once I understood where my hand was; covering the sweetest little boob imaginable, well less than a palmful yet delightfully defined. The contrast between the youth of her slender body and the maturity of her emerging breasts seemed to strike a chord in my mind. Add to that waking up with her compact bottom pressed into my groin, and, well, a brass statue would react. I'd extricated myself when more intimate ideas came to mind. Sia was still recovering from major surgery. Better safe than sorry.

Sia was gone by the time I finished my shower. Despite my worries about her tiring herself, and still needing time to recover, she insisted she have her friends over, so Saturday was a house filled with music and laughter and giggles.

That night, Sia was seriously exhausted. She could barely keep her eyes open through dinner but was awake enough to sniff her food and decide she didn't like Brussels sprouts, just as she hadn't as a child. She left them on her plate, carefully nudged away from the pot roast and mashed potatoes so they wouldn't get infected.

Our second night of sleeping together was much better. Forewarned is forearmed. We snuggled and kissed chastely, being careful not to disturb her ankle. I grew erect against her when I fondled her spectacular young ass over her pajamas, drowning in how seductively they mounded; perfect small globes that seemed to fit my caressing hand far too well. I was very tempted to initiate more and fish inside her pajama bottoms but restrained myself. Sia was still recovering.

When she drifted to sleep, I rolled her, smiling as she muttered something unintelligible, and cuddled up from behind, my erection nestling between sexy flannel-covered buttocks.

She was cold again, shivering slightly, but soon warmed up.

Sunday is my most hated day of the week. The Boomtown Rats had it wrong. Monday's weren't the worst. Not for me. I liked my job as Manager of Waste Water Treatment for the town. It was a stress-free occupation that provided rewards, kept me interested, and provided excellent benefits; six weeks paid vacation per year, a defined benefit retirement plan, and enough money to live in comfort. Sundays, though, were bleak. It was the end of the weekend. I'd never lost the feeling I'd had in high school - that uncomfortable guilt that I'd forgotten to do my homework and a test loomed on Monday. Awful.

Even Sia's excitement at the prospect of being home for the full week with no classes - Dr. Anston's orders - couldn't lift me out of the doldrums.

She also continued to concern me. At lunch, as I prepared ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches, she sniffed the ham and announced, "The ham smells hinky, Dad. I don't want any. Do we have Bologna?" She had sworn off Bologna at nine years old. When I prepared an Alfredo pasta, delicious creamy, garlicky sauce tossed in fettuccine, she leaned over the saucepan, sniffed, and told me it needed more salt.

"You can't smell salt, Sia," I informed her, a bit miffed.

"Well, I can!"

The first taste confirmed my slightly wonky daughter could, indeed, smell salt. While it was amusing, this sensory development concerned me. How else had her brain been affected by the concussion?

Worries vanished after dinner when we settled on the couch. Sia, using her healthy foot, started nudging my thigh, "Look at that, Dad!" nodding to the television, "A documentary!"

I smiled. I didn't consider Last Man Standing a documentary. But, her foot wriggled, easing along the inside of my leg. Not to be outdone, my foot matched her moves. And like the well-trained Pavlovian dog I was, an erection formed, her sole settling into my groin and caressing rather erotically. My foot found her crotch and, with a side-to-side wiggle, pressed to her pussy.

Throughout the evening, we teased each other with subtle caresses, my erection growing into full, aching tumescence at her actions. Needless to say I was distinctly horny by bedtime. Bathroom rituals did nothing to diminish my state. In fact, it now seemed to me that Sia's recovery was almost complete, even if it wasn't.

When she slipped into bed, pulling the thick quilt over her with a shiver, I reached for her. "Come here," I ordered, drawing her slender body to me. Her eyes twinkled, enchanting with their excitement.

She felt wonderful in my arms, the sensation of having a female in bed such a long ago memory. Soft, exciting kisses brought on a fog of desire. Believing a small taste of her lovely lips could do no harm, influenced by a stubborn erection and a hand caressing the most scrumptious bum in the world, I touched her lips with my tongue.

The impact was astonishing. Sia moaned into the kiss, her mouth pressing against mine harder. The tip of her tongue emerged to tease mine and I fell into a vortex of desire, confusing, lusting, desire raging like an out-of-control bush fire.

Tightening my hug, pulling her young body against me tightly, sandwiching my erection against her stomach, I started French kissing her, my mind imagining all sorts of intimate things I wanted to introduce to her.

Suddenly, Sia was rubbing against me, pressing against my erection. The feel of her compact young buttock in my hand, her slenderness, and her sweet, familiar scent, broke through the fog of arousal. What was I doing? This was way too fast, way too soon!

With a Herculean effort, I slowly lowered the intensity of our kisses. Taking a break, I spoke. "Roll the other way, honey."

Sia turned her back to me. I spooned her, drew her ponytail away and kissed her neck as my arms wrapped around her. All too soon, soft buttocks pressed to my groin, my erection nestled into their sweet valley. Nibbling her earlobe, my hand moved up her front to gently cover her small breast; so wonderful.

Her hand covered mine as I caressed the stupendous shape of pubescence. Sia sighed. Despite her flannel pajama top, I felt her nipple respond to soft teasing and it thrilled me.

Distracting her with neck kisses, inhaling her amazing scent, my hand trailed down her front. Sia surprised me by lifting her leg. Suddenly, through pajama bottoms, I was cupping my daughter's pussy. It was a new experience for me, both strange and wonderful. Despite being small, it felt prominent, plump, a wondrous mound to hold. Between her legs, her vulva had such a sensual shape, full and curved, exciting to the touch. I squeezed her mons gently, earning a shudder from her.

"Is this okay?" I whispered.

"Uh-huh," she whispered back. "It feels good."

"Yes, it does," I agreed.

With the utmost care I began to stroke Sia's pussy, my fingertip tracing up and down the center along her cleft. Occasionally, I rubbed her mons with the heel of my hand followed by a gentle squeeze of her whole pussy.

While my erection strained, crying out for relief, I was too taken by the experience of actually fondling my daughter, touching her intimately, the illicit actions thrilling me. But, then it got better. Sia started moving - just tiny movements; a gentle clench of her buttocks, a slight press of her bottom at me before pressing forward against my hand. Slowly, erotically, the movements became regular, her hips undulating gently as I traced her cleft, teased her clit, and kissed her neck.

With her back pressed against my chest, I felt her breathing deepen. Minutes seemed like hours. Her body moved faster, more insistent, hunching her pussy against my hand as her arousal grew. It was amazing to experience; my daughter in the full grip of a sexual response brought on by me, her father. But, it got better . . . much, much better.

Her face turned to press into the pillow. An almost silent long groan emerged. Her hand dropped to cover the back of mine, pressing mine to her pussy. Rhythmic humping grew stronger, more urgent. Then, my sweet darling grunted, her body froze. "Daddy," she gasped quietly and a hard grunt along with surging hips announced Sia's climax. Her legs snapped closed trapping my hand. My finger rubbed against her cleft. She grunted again and her body let loose, humping and shuddering, humping and shuddering, gasps of ecstasy growing louder. In my arms, with her body pulled tight against me, my daughter shook through her orgasm.

It ended suddenly, as if a balloon had popped inside her. She went limp and still, breath rushing. An occasional residual wave of pleasure shook her body, the gap between them growing longer and longer, until she was at peace.

I wasn't. I had a raging erection. It was still hard to believe I'd brought my daughter off, given her pleasure, felt her remarkable pussy, and experienced her climax so personally.

Nevertheless, I wanted to enjoy the experience. Finding release could wait.

"How are you feeling?" I whispered, bringing my hand back up from her crotch to cover her small breast.

Her response was a kittenish wiggle back against me.

When she started to move, I tightened my hug. "Don't," I whispered. "I want to cuddle like this."

Her comment electrified me.

"I have to go clean up and change," she said softly, drawing my arm away from her.

As she limped out of the bedroom, giving me a sweet blush of embarrassment I found most appealing, my mind registered what she'd said.

God knows why, but it had never crossed my mind that Sia would get moist with arousal, her panties damp and uncomfortable. Was it because she was still so young? Was it because I only recently experienced the emerging sexual side to her? No matter, the concept of my daughter wet with excitement had a profound impact. It released something inside of me I hadn't known I was worried about. I hadn't recognized the slight guilt shadowing my mind that I was somehow taking advantage of her, of the youthful crush she might have on me. If her body was reacting so strongly, there was no question she was enjoying our new-found intimacy. It released me.

When she returned, still on my back, I drew her to my side, the television throwing bluish light over us. She snuggled close, resting her bandaged ankle on top of my leg, pressing herself to me.

With a chaste kiss, I said, "Love you,"

She smiled. "Luv ya, too, Dad."

That night my daughter surprised me yet again. She was toasty warm the whole night. How did I know? I froze my ass off when she tossed the quilt off us in her sleep. She was a very strange creature indeed.

Chapter Seven

Monday morning. Light snow in the forecast. The sky was grey with ominous clouds hanging so low I felt like hunching.

Before walking out to the truck, I stuck my head in the kitchen. Sia was still in pajamas - powder blue flannel with white daisies all over them - her head bent as she studied her iPhone. Facebook probably.

"Sia?"

She looked up at me, hair thick, wavy, loose and attractively messy. "Yeah?"

"See ya," I said, turning to leave.

Her groan made me smile.

"Daaaad! That's so, like, lame!"

The day was brighter as I greeted the bitter chill of winter.

SIA GRINNED TO HERSELF. Dad hadn't used that line in, like, for ever. It reminded her of him dropping her off at school years ago.

Her attention turned to Facebook. She updated her page with the good news that she'd have a whole week off school to recover, even though she felt fine. She was briefly tempted to change her status to 'in a relationship' and grinned to herself. What would her friends make of that?

With a final mouthful of frosted flakes, she rose, dumped the bowl and spoon into the sink, and went to the fridge. On the shopping list, she added 'Froot Loops'. She missed eating them.

A whole week! Yay!

In the bathroom, after shutting the door she opened it again - she was alone so who cared? Besides it would only be Dad seeing her naked - her mind became distracted with the thought. Unbuttoning her pajama top, she let her mind drift to last night.

If anyone had told her that climaxes could be more intense when someone else was involved she'd never have believed them.

Reaching into the tub, she started the shower before shrugging her pajama top off. Turning, she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror and paused to study her small breasts.

She'd been so pleased when they'd started appearing, first just her areolae mounding, then more. She hadn't liked how tender they were at first, the slightest brush against them hurting. Turning from side to side, she studied them. She was pleased. They'd grown into almost real breasts; still on the small side but nicely mounded up off her chest. The left one had finally caught up to the right one. She cupped them in her hands and tried to imagine how Dad had felt when he caressed them. Her thumbs stroked gently, a spark of arousal. She squeezed them carefully. It was nice but nowhere near as nice as it had been with Dad. Why?

Out of curiosity she tried to squeeze them together, to create a cleavage. Nope. Too wide apart. Too small.
Oh well.

The sound of rushing water filled the bathroom, steam beginning to fog the mirror. With a quick tug, she pulled her pajama bottoms and panties off together, turned and slipped into the shower.

After washing her hair, something she did every day, she washed her body. Soaping her pussy brought the memory of Dad fondling her back in a rush, another pleasing twinge of arousal. Bending, she studied herself. Her boobs might make her feel more mature, but her pussy didn't. It was only in the past month that hairs had started turning black, the first signs of pubic hair appearing. To her it looked too childish and she wished she had more, a full bush; something Dad would like, she thought. Or maybe not. Didn't women shave their pubes? Did all men prefer the bare look?

Maybe she should research it on the Internet. Yup. That's what she'd do.

Now in a hurry, Sia rinsed, dried, and used a hair dryer and brush to untangle her hair, her mind occupied.

In the living room, seated on the couch, with music from the television, she browsed the Internet on her iPhone. It seemed most sites fell on the side of guys liking the bare look, no pubes. But, as she read, it talked about how guys liked it because they thought they had a porn star as a date. Sia shuddered. She didn't want to look like a porn star. Gawd! What would Dad think of her if she shaved? Nope. Keep what little she had, Sia decided.

As she browsed, she clicked on one link. Porn. It didn't shock her. She'd seen stuff like that before and would just close the page, not interested in the slightest in seeing two actors going at it. However, one image caught her eye. She clicked on it.

A video played. In it, a youngish blonde girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen, was with a young guy. They were naked. At first Sia liked watching them kiss and caress each other, very loving. Music on the video was soft, nice. It looked like they were in a white villa, an ocean breeze wafting gossamer curtains, the bed pure white, sheets white.

Then the girl took the guy's erection and started stroking it as they kissed, kneeling and facing each other. The girl bent and kissed his erection gently, her tongue emerging to lick the tip. She slowly, very slowly, took his erection into her mouth. Sia heard the guy groan with pleasure. In Sia's mind, she saw Dad.

Her pulse raced. Heat flushed through her body as she watched the girl use her mouth to suck him, her hand to stroke his erection. It was slow, deliberate, almost loving. Unconsciously, Sia clenched her thighs together, a warm pulse of arousal blossoming in her pussy. If the guy liked it so much, would Dad like it, too?

The clip ended suddenly. Sia shut the browser down. She tried to picture herself doing that for Dad. Her hand drifted down, settling at her crotch. She caressed and frowned. It didn't feel anywhere near as good as when Dad was doing it.

Frustrated, with nothing to do, she rose and limped around, eventually becoming so bored she did some chores, rested, did some more chores, browsed Amazon for clothes, and wished the day was over.

By just after six, darkness having fallen, Sia was going stir crazy. The sound of the front door opening had her jumping up, gasping from a wince of pain radiating up from her ankle, and limping into the hall.

"Dad! You're home!"

AS I HUNG UP the parka, Sia limped toward me, smiling, her sky blue and hazel eyes bright with pleasure. She leapt at me suddenly, arms wrapping around my neck. With her face buried against my neck, mine against hers, my arms holding her up, I inhaled deeply drawing in the aroma of Sia; floral shampoo, softness, sunshine.

She raised her face, eyes glinting. "Guess what?"

"What?" I asked.

Her answer was muffled by my kiss. When it ended, she smiled. "I made dinner!"

Setting her down carefully, I asked, "What did you make?"

"Mac & cheese with cut up hotdogs."

"Mmmmm. Let's eat. I'm hungry." Despite having a taste for fine food and having made several gourmet versions of macaroni and cheese, I still preferred the simple packaged version. It had been a favorite as a kid and remained one as an adult.

"You have to change first," Sia ordered. "Put on sweats and a T-shirt. I'll get dinner ready."

"Yes, ma'am."

Over dinner (I added a green salad to the menu), Sia, out of the blue, told me she wanted to go back to school. Staying at home wasn't as much fun as she thought it would be. "It's boring, Dad."

I refused. After some spirited discussion we agreed to let Dr. Anston decide at her Wednesday checkup. Mollified only slightly, Sia finished dinner and ordered me into the living room. She was going to change, too, although I thought jeans and a sweatshirt suited her just fine.

She joined me, wearing a thick, white terry bathrobe. In a familiar move, she sat at the other end of the couch, turned to her side, brought her legs up and, with her good foot, shoved my legs out of the way. Satisfied, she tossed the Afghan blanket over our legs and watched TV.

As her foot moved up my leg, arousal started. I was now well trained, I realized with a smile. Lifting one leg, I let her settle the sole of her foot against the growing bulk in my sweats. She pressed softly, exploring my condition. No slouch myself, I tried slipping my foot up her leg only to get tangled in her bathrobe. Some foot twists and turns did nothing to overcome the terry defenses.

It was delightful to see a small smile on Sia's face as she watched TV, obviously aware of my struggles. Not nice! Leaving her leg alone, my toes found her side. I used the tickle offense. Giggles filled the air as she moved to displace my probing toes. Her foot wiggled against my erection very nicely.

"Daaaad! Stop!" she exclaimed, then, with a sweet smile, she reached under the Afghan and, with some fiddling, guided my foot to her crotch. Once again, I was in heaven, my foot pressed to her pantied pussy as she lowered her leg, trapping me.

For the next half hour we caressed each other, our sexy game of footsie. I sported a full erection and suffered diminishing morals, yet again.

Suddenly, Sia withdrew her foot, threw off the Afghan and came over to me. She parked herself on top of me when I twisted onto my back and stretched out on the couch. Astride me, her eyes giving me that magical twinkle, a small, coy smile curling her lips, she bent, her eyes locked on my face. I smelled her scent just before her soft lips touched mine. She pressed her mouth to mine. Groaning with pent up desire, I wrapped my arms around her and fell into the sweet kiss. It intensified when the tip of her tongue teased my lips, tasting me. Before I could respond, she sat up.

"How 'bout we go to bed early," she asked, her crotch slightly grinding on the lump of my erection.

What I wanted to do was suck her lower lip. It seemed a bit swollen and looked very delicious. I could still taste her last kiss. Echoing through my mind was the realization I adored kissing my daughter, not just because she was so great to kiss, but the incestuous element to it just rang my bell. That pleasing truth excited me beyond words.

"I think that's a champion idea," I agreed, with a grin.

She smiled and scrambled off me. "Well, c'mon then!"

I don't think I had ever moved with such alacrity. Turning everything off, I was stripped down to boxers - screw pajama bottoms - and climbing under the quilt by the time Sia made it to the side of the bed. She shrugged off her terry bathrobe to reveal a mid-thigh-length chartreuse nightshirt with burgundy piping. I was on my side waiting when she lifted the quilt and slipped into bed. She smiled her semi-shy smile, her eyes bright, some tendrils of hair having escaped from her thick ponytail to frame her face.

She curled one tress of hair behind her cute ear, lay on her side facing me, and said, "So, I've given it some thought and there are ten reasons why you want to kiss me."

I grinned. "Ten, huh?"

"Yup. Number one, you like kissing me. Number two, you want to kiss me. Number three, you need to kiss me. Number four, you're desperate to kiss me . . ." her smile growing with each reason.

Laughing with pleasure, I pushed my daughter onto her back and leaned over her, my leg slipping between hers.

"See," she said, "You need to kiss me."

I did!

Bending, I kissed Sia gently, still shocked at how sexy it was to just kiss my daughter. My knee eased up to press against her crotch. The gentle kiss broke and I did what I'd wanted to in the living room; I sucked her plump lower lip while my hand, from resting on her bony hip, slipped up. I reached her sexy petite breast. Even on her back it mounded up, firm and youthful, so arousing. I teased the top with the pad of my thumb, a slow circular movement, and her nipple responded, hardening delightfully under her thin nightshirt.

Our lips met again, soft, gentle, so damned sexy; Sia's hand finding the side of my neck.

The kiss broke suddenly. I snorted in air. Yet another hand had cautiously felt the outline of my erection over my boxers and traced the shape. It sent chills through me. This was the first time Sia had touched me intimately and, my God, it aroused me.

She paused at my snort.

"Is it okay for me to touch you?" she asked.

"If you stop I might have to kill you," I answered.

She smiled. "Kay."

Our kissing resumed. I paid only partial attention to it. Sia was exploring, fingers measuring the girth up and down my shaft with small exploratory squeezes sending waves of excitement through me; my erection straining, rigid.

Somehow, without realizing it, my hand had drifted away from her lovely pert breast and migrated south. A silken thigh slipped under my palm, then her knee. I made the slow, exquisite return journey north on the inside of her thigh, slowly drawing her nightshirt up, my excitement rising along with my heart rate.

That first touch, the brush of my finger against soft cotton panties coddling Sia's pussy, came close to making me dizzy. Then she eased her legs apart and I was cupping her, holding a small but full, almost plump pussy.

Our kisses changed. From gentle lips playing softly against each other, it moved into deeper kisses. Sia murmured as our tongues touched, mouths opening. I squeezed her remarkable pussy and Sia moaned, pressing her pussy against my palm.

Lord help me but I wanted more. I wanted badly. Inching her nightshirt up, excitement growing, my palm passed over her mons and up higher. I shuddered when I found the waist of her panties. Was I really going to do this? My heart thumped when Sia's hand gently gripped my shaft over my boxers. Arousal and desire brought on a slight disorientation. Then, well, then my fingertips slipped under the waist of her panties. I was finally going to touch my daughter intimately, as intimately as one ever could.

Her skin was silky soft. The cotton panties brushed the back of my hand. I detected a remarkable rise, her mons a sensual mountain. Pushing deeper, I groaned as my hand slipped up, over, and down. My hand trembled when I cupped Sia's bare pussy. Several sensations bombarded me at once: my thirteen-year-old's pussy might be petite but it was perfectly shaped; it was a warm sexy mound against my palm; and, better then all, at the base of her cleft, warm, slippery arousal greeted my middle finger - Sia was moist! Damn!

Our kiss intensified as we touched each other. Sia followed my actions. Her hand moved up and wiggled into the waist of my boxers, slipping in to find my cock, straining and slippery with precum. She held the shaft and squeezed gently, so very cautiously, my erection swelling, precum leaking.

With tongues caressing, heart racing, I curled my middle finger. It eased between her labia, her cleft velvety, warm, moist, hugging my fingertip. I drew my fingertip up and found her clitoris.

Sia shuddered, gasping quietly, the kiss breaking. "Daddy," she whispered, her hand gripping my shaft harder, eyes closing.

With infinite care, I stroked my daughter's clit, bringing up her moisture from below, her body trembling. Caressing her clit with a gentle circular motion, Sia responded. Her nostrils flared with deep breaths. Her hand on my erection gripped and relaxed, gripped and relaxed, following the shudders in her body.

I watched, through the haze of arousal, that condition that makes everything appear beautiful, perfect, absolutely right. Slowly, with increasing speed, I caressed her clit, adding pressure, her cleft becoming very moist. Sia's hips joined her body movements, encouraging me, curling her pussy against my finger, relaxing, curling, a fucking motion that thrilled me. Her hand gripped my erection and relaxed in perfect time, stimulating me.

Shudders shook her, deep tremors. She inhaled sharply, her body straining, tense, taut. "Oh Gawd," she whispered, and fell off the cliff.

Her climax hit. Hips humping fast, scrubbing her clit against my finger, her hand gripping and relaxing on my shaft, Sia snorted, gasped, and groaned. Her whole body shook, legs snapping closed, chest heaving. A flush rose up her neck like a rising tide to wash into her cheeks. Then another strained whisper escaped, "Oh Gawd, Daddy."

It took me over the edge. My cock swelled, ached, a moment of pain arrived before ecstasy slammed into me, semen spurting almost painfully onto my daughter's wrist. Without control, I humped my erection in her fist, beautiful pleasure shuddering through me with another hard, hard spurt. The gates of heaven opened. Pressed to my daughter's side, with her hand holding me, I came hard, thrusting and spurting, thrusting and spurting, glorious bliss flooding me.

The end came suddenly. Somehow, we were still, our chests heaving, hearts racing, and post-orgasmic euphoria bringing total relaxation. I felt no guilt, none. I loved what we'd just done.

It was strange though. I still cupped Sia's pussy inside her panties. She still had a hold on my only-slightly softened penis. We were both very messy. Eventually, Sia opened her eyes.

She blushed! Simply gorgeous!

Her eyes studied my face for a reaction. She saw the truth in my honest smile and relaxed, a smile emerging, eyes twinkling.

"That was . . ."

"Intense," I finished for her.

"Uh-huh. Is it always like that?"

"No. There are many different ways the body experiences pleasure."

"I like this one just fine," she said.

SIA STUDIED DAD'S FACE. She liked the smile crinkles at the outside edge of his eyes, and the pleasure in his dark hazel eyes. She liked the loving smile on his face. She liked the shape of his mouth, his lips so sexy and kissable. In her chest she had a sigh caught, needing to escape.

He moved his face close. His lips brushed against hers lovingly, a soft caress. She loved it. She loved Dad. She adored him. He was everything she wanted, so different from guys like Jim Prentice.

Relaxed, her body at peace, she enjoyed his hand still on her pussy. Then she blushed.

"What?" Dad asked softly.

"I need to get cleaned up."

"Me, too."

She slipped from the bed and went to her bathroom, her mind occupied. In the harsh, white bathroom light she studied her hand. It still had Dad's semen on it, a thick, whitish liquid. She rubbed it between her fingers; slippery. Bringing it up to her nose, she sniffed. It smelled a bit like the chlorine in the swimming pool, just subtler. Not that bad. It answered a couple of questions she'd had.

Rinsing her hand, she blushed again. Peeling her panties off, she dried her pussy. How come she'd get so wet with Dad? She'd never get that way when she played with herself.

Absentmindedly, she dropped her damp panties into the laundry basket and headed to her room. Why were her climaxes with him so strong? Hunting through the dresser drawer for fresh panties, she replayed the amazing feeling of Dad cumming. She'd brought him off; given him a hand job! Her! Her first, too! A shiver of pleasure hit as she let the memory play: his erection feeling so surprisingly large; how thick it was; how warm and hard, yet almost soft to the touch; and, even as she was climaxing, the incredible feeling of Dad's erection swelling. She'd felt every pulse as he'd ejaculated. Then he'd started moving, his erection slipping through her grip, spurting hot wetness against her wrist. It was thrilling.

In her imagination, a guy cumming hadn't been nearly so sexy and arousing. Reality was so different. She loved feeling Dad cum!

Was it this way for all girls? Had it been this way for Mom?

Pulling clean panties up, she wiggled to seat them properly, dropped her nightshirt back and headed to Dad's bedroom.

Snuggled at his side, her head in the crook of his shoulder, his arm around her holding her close, so comforting, she asked, "Can I ask you something personal?"

"I'd be disappointed if you couldn't ask me," he told her.

Sia thought about how to ask. It was a bit embarrassing, but with Dad she felt comfortable; he wouldn't make fun of her.

"Um, when I'm with you I react differently than when alone."

"How so?"

"My . . . Um . . . Well, my . . . I get . . ."

Dad looked at her. "Don't be shy, honey. Just spit it out."

She thought he already knew. Drawing a deeper breath, she tried again. "When I . . . do it alone I never get as . . . Um . . . as damp . . . as . . .," she paused briefly feeling heat in her face and continued, "Well, with you I'm much more . . ."

Dad's hand caressed her hair. "I understand, honey. Let me ask you this. Were you more aroused tonight than when you're on your own?"

"Yeah. A lot."

"Well, the hornier you are the more your body responds."

Sia relaxed. He did understand. "But, is it normal to get so, um, so wet?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think all women react the same way, but you should know I find it very, very sexy."

"You do?"

"Yup. I do."

"Was Mom like me?"

Dad smiled, bent and kissed her forehead gently. "Absolutely."

"Kay. Can I tell you something?"

"Mmm-hmm," he murmured, his lips still pressed to her forehead.

"I never knew there were so many ways to kiss. I thought there were only two - closed lip kisses and French kisses. But there are lots more. Like, how you nibbled my lower lip, or the touch of your tongue, and then there's pressure, hard or soft, and slow kisses and quick kisses and, like, even more. It's amazing."

She looked up at him. "I like kissing you. I think we need to kiss a lot more."

"Sounds like a plan. I'd like to kiss you more, too."

Sia sighed when Dad bent and kissed her, lips closed, softly, so affectionate. Warmth flowed through her to her toes. She tried to snuggle closer to him when it ended, inhaling deeply.

"You smell different," she noted.

"Probably pheromones."

"I like it. You smell good."

Sleep drifted in, a calm drowsiness settling over her, her body pleasantly relaxed. Sia wondered if she was under the spell of Dad's pheromones. She smiled to herself. If so, it was a nice spell to be under.

Chapter Eight

ESCORTING SIA INTO DR. ANSTONS'S office, I let them chat while the doctor examined her.

Newly minted teenage girls are a mystery I'd yet to decode. I'd made a decision to let our illicit relationship develop at Sia's speed, but I didn't understand her speed at all. Last night, Tuesday, Sia had decided to snuggle next to me while we watched TV. We'd exchanged a few delightful kisses, those soft, loving, intimate kisses I enjoyed so much, her eyes so bright and happy. She'd been satisfied to cuddle in bed, happy with some more kisses, but that was all. She'd fallen asleep.

Not half an hour later she'd rolled away from me and curled up. She really wasn't a snuggler. In the middle of the night, I woke up shivering. Sia had stolen the whole quilt and was buried under it, her dark hair, splayed across the pillow - the only sign of my daughter being in bed. I'd reclaimed my portion of the quilt and cuddled up to her. She was icy cold. It took a while for my body to warm enough to fall asleep.

This morning, when I woke to get ready for work, she'd only stirred, rolling over, bringing the quilt with her. She'd hardly noticed my kiss on her forehead when I left.

"Mr. Hicks?"

I glanced at Dr. Anston.

"Sia is fine. She's recovering remarkably well. I understand she wants to go back to school and that's fine. However, I've told her no physical exercise, no P.E. classes for the next three weeks. We can't take any chances of another hit to her head."

Sia smiled brightly.

"Okay," I agreed. "Are you sure she's fine?"

"Yes. Why? Have you noticed anything unusual in her behavior?"

With a quick glance at my daughter, I informed Dr. Anston about her newly discerning sense of smell.

Dr. Anston nodded as I related the change. "It can be a side effect from concussion. While rare, it usually passes. I wouldn't be concerned. Does it bother you?" she asked Sia.

"Nope."

"She's not the one who has to cook," I pointed out with a grin.

Dr. Anston smiled. "Well then, aside from the menu, there's nothing to worry about. I'll see you in two weeks, Sia."

I'd taken half a day off to deliver my daughter to her follow-up exam. It was four-fifteen when we left the hospital. Weather was calm, skies blue and cloudless, temperature still bitter.

The Old Sod ignored my key turning in the ignition.

"So, what next?" I asked my daughter foolishly, while thumping the dash a few times. The Ford was a contumacious bastard. It grumbled before eventually farting a cloud of black smoke and wheezing into life.

"Let's go to the movies! I feel like I've been a prisoner at home for ever."

"It was two days at home, Sia, not a year in Siberia."

"It felt like a year. So, wanna take me to the movies?" she asked, adding with a grin, "Chili dogs for dinner? Fries? Chili fries? Wanna?"

She knew my junk food weakness too well. "Okay. I get to pick the movie."

"Kay."

Standing in line for tickets, Sia tugged at my sleeve. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Wouldn't you rather see Star Wars?"

"My choice. Brooklyn sounds good."

"But Star Wars sounds better, doesn't it?"

I wanted to see Star Wars, but couldn't let the opportunity to bother Sia pass. "Maybe Joy would be interesting. It's a comedy drama," I observed looking at the display above the ticket counter.

"Star Wars is a comedy drama, too. Maybe we should see it," Sia insisted.

We moved to the ticket seller, a lovely young girl with a bright smile, blonde hair, perky disposition. "How can I help you?" she asked.

"One adult, one pest-of-a-teenager for Joy," I said.

Sia leaned in. "He means Star Wars," she informed the girl.

"Brooklyn," I said.

"Don't listen to him. He wants to see Star Wars."

The ticket seller froze, confused. I winked at her. She smiled, tapped the computer screen and announced the price. Paying, she handed me the tickets.

"Enjoy Brooklyn," she said.

Sia grumbled at my side, her steps stomping slightly . . . actually, one healthy foot stomping.

The ticket taker took our tickets, tore them, and handed them back. "Star Wars is playing in cinema two, to your left."

Sia grinned. "You're a real pain, Dad," she informed me. "So, chili dog or chili fries?"

The theater was jam-packed. I truly enjoyed it despite it being a copy of the first Star Wars, the original first. Almost all elements were the same; a person living on a desert-like planet, a robot with a secret, a challenge facing them - a bigger Death Star. Still, it was entertaining, exciting, the special effects good, 3D adding to the experience, and a large bowl of chili fries filled me very nicely.

It seemed my lovely daughter wasn't as sex-obsessed as I was. That night she stole the quilt. I stole it back, cuddled to her chilly body, and warmed her up - the fatherly thing to do. I did get to enjoy her sexy body pressed against mine, inhale her sleeping scent, and have her gorgeous butt nestled into my groin. Life could be worse.

Throughout Thursday, I was distracted at work. I was beginning to doubt Sia wanted to escalate our intimacy. Perhaps she was happy with kisses and hugging. I wasn't. It struck me midmorning, as I was running quality checks on the purified water, that I hadn't actually seen my daughter naked. I wanted to see her naked. Very much now. I knew the shape of her delightful small breasts and the shape of her sexy pussy by touch. My imagination teased me endlessly. What would she look like? Her body was still slender, beautifully coltish, as yet unaffected by maturing curves. Yet, with petite breasts emerging what would she look like? A young, preadolescent girl, or a blossoming woman, or a magnificent blend of the two?

My commitment to let our relationship develop at her speed was cracking under the weight of my desire.

I should have known better than to second-guess my daughter. When I walked in the door at the end of the day, Sia appeared and leapt up at me.

"Dad! You're home!"

I held her up off the floor and enjoyed how she nuzzled her face into my neck, such a loving gesture.

"I missed you," she murmured, her legs wrapping around my waist.

I held her butt to support her, a lovely piece of teenage anatomy. As I inhaled her sensual scent, she kissed my neck. Her kiss moved to my chin. Her pretty face appeared, blue and hazel eyes sparkling. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, her eyes studying each part of my face, she smiled briefly before kissing me. And I mean kissing me!

Her lips pressed to mine. A murmur preceded the tip of her tongue emerging. Fresh warm breath wafted against my cheek. I fell into the kiss, my tongue joining hers, heat emerging, passion rising, an erection forming. It was a deep kiss that left me quite breathless when it ended, my heart beating harder.

"Mmmm," she murmured, "Delicious."

Dismounting from me, she smiled. "Go change and make dinner. I'm hungry."

Changed and cooking, my daughter kept me company, sitting at the old oak kitchen table chatting away, giving me a blow by blow update on her day at school; Robin was dating a new boy, although they hadn't actually gone on a date, yet, "But they're an item," and Lara telling her how sorry her mom is for the accident, and that the high school quarterback was arrested for drinking beer in his dad's car with two other guys while driving, "Math class is hard, Dad," and, "I've been invited to a sleepover at Lara's. Can I go?"

Turning porcini and spinach-stuffed pork chops in the frying pan, while stirring a mushroom and parmesan risotto, I enjoyed her commentary. I liked her effervescence. Clearly, being at school was better than staying home.

"So can I?"

"Can you what? Set the table, please."

"Go to the sleepover at Lara's. I just told you."

"Are boys going to be there?" I asked, beginning to plate dinner.

"Daaaad!"

"Is Lara's mom driving anywhere?" I asked, putting two plates on the table.

"Daaaad. Really! The accident wasn't her fault!"

"Okay."

Sia bent and smelled her food. "Did you put garlic and shallots in the risotto? I like it. It smells good."

She followed her approval by inhaling dinner. By bedtime, I was in a state. When she slipped under the quilt, wearing the same nightshirt she'd worn before, rational thoughts had been displaced by more intimate perspectives that had hounded me all day. After a particularly arousing smooch, lips nibbled, and a soft, young body pressed against me, I finally broke down.

Combing my fingers through her hair, I said softly, "I haven't seen you undressed yet."

"Haven't seen you either," she responded.

"I'd really, really like to."

She studied me in the bluish light cast out from the television, and smiled, "Kay. I'd like to, too. See you naked, that is."

I had plans, detailed plans, or dreams at least. Undressing my daughter would be so erotic; slowly unveiling each part of her, kissing bared skin as it appeared, tasting her skin. I was going to cherish each action, study her in her panties, slowly peel them down to expose her most private part to my eyes, that part forbidden to a father. I was going to be the first guy to see my daughter naked. I had plans.

Sia clearly didn't understand the importance of being undressed by someone else, of mutual excitement building as we discovered curves, muscles, erotic dips and swells, exciting nooks and crannies.

Nope.

She rolled away from me and, hidden by the damn quilt, writhed. A nightshirt was tossed to the floor. More writhing ensued and, before I could yell stop, pink cotton panties were tossed out.

Sia peered at me. "What'cha waiting for?"

Shoot!

I pulled off my pajama bottoms, kicking them to the bottom of the bed. She scooted towards me, buried under the cover. The moment bare skin touched me, thoughts of undressing her vanished.

She pressed herself to me, front-to-front, bare skin to bare skin, my erection sliding up her stomach. I didn't need sight. My hands discovered sensual beauty. Sia was full of gentle curves; her spine knobby, shoulder blades prominent, the sweep of her back ending at the erotic swell of her compact rear, her buttocks slightly cool. They were mounds of sculpted beauty, curving down to blend into silken thighs. I held her buttock, my fingertip tracing down the exciting valley between.

Sia's hands rubbed my chest. She kissed it before looking up at me. She smiled sweetly when I bent to kiss her, a light brush of our lips. My hand moved up to her small hip and discovered the sensual dip to her waist, her almost delicate side, and, with breath held, I cupped my daughter's small naked breast.

It was stunning, exciting, the shape of perfection, her nipple a hard bead rubbing on my palm. Adolescence was simply magnificent.

"You feel wonderful," I whispered, caressing her.

Sia responded by easing her knee between my legs. Her hand glided down my arm to rest at my hip. We kissed again and Sia electrified me by letting her fingertips drop between us to trace the side of my erection pressed to her stomach, a feather-light touch, so arousing as it slowly trailed up my shaft to brush against the crown. Precum leaked. Her fingertip teased the tip spreading it. The ache of desire blossomed; desire for even more.

Suddenly I could picture us writhing together, holding each other, my sexy daughter in my arms. The vision was strong. It was powerfully attractive. But . . .

Denied the experience of undressing her, I still wanted to explore every nook and cranny of her young body, feel and taste, and learn how different youth was from maturity.

Rolling her onto her back, I smiled and kissed her softly, smiled again and kissed her chin. She smiled back at me, eyes bright and expectant. Drawing the quilt down, I kissed the base of her neck, taking a moment to inhale deeply, wonderful. The moment had arrived. My cock ached, strained. Anticipation and desire was a powerful combination. I wanted to see her, study her.

Reaching behind me, I searched for the bedside lamp, turning it on, a soft golden yellow light falling over us.

Tugging gently, the quilt eased down. Beautiful, almost delicate mounds emerged, her breasts rising from her chest, firm, widely spaced; simply spectacular. I inhaled sharply. Sia's areolae were a dusky pink, her nipples taut. Her breasts were gorgeous, excitingly petite, so youthful, yet they were completely female, intensely female. Unable to resist, I leaned in and kissed the top slope of one, then the other. Goosebumps emerged on her arms. Her areolae dimpled slightly. Sia's hand caressed my back as I finally kissed her nipple, tasted her, a slight salty flavor, and settled my mouth over her breast. She inhaled deeply when I sucked, my tongue teasing her nipple, circling her areola.

When I moved to its twin, I noticed her areola had plumped up; very, very sexy, her sexual response thrilling me. The second breast received the same loving welcome and responded. It was hard to maintain rational thought. I couldn't get past how beautiful her breasts were, so mature yet not.

Moving back up, with her eyes studying me as if probing for my opinion, I kissed her softly. "You have the most perfect breasts in the world," I whispered. She smiled. "If the rest of you is this gorgeous, I'll have discovered paradise."

"Kay," she whispered, eyes sparking with pleasure.

I returned to her breasts, kissed each lightly, kissed between them, edged the quilt lower and kissed her navel. Sia's stomach was flat, dipping down from her rib cage. I eased the quilt lower, excitement mounting.

I could never have been prepared. I stopped breathing.

Oblique golden yellow light cast shadows across her body highlighting bony narrow hips and, oh my good Lord, the sensual rise of her mons. Adolescent perfection, it mounded up, rising majestically from her flat stomach only to narrow and plunge between her slender legs. Almost bare, the very slightest hint of dark brown was emerging; body hair beginning to change color, not real pubic hair but a shadow of what was to come. They were silken, downy soft, and sparse. The sight inflamed me. Sia's pussy was ripe, a plump peach, her labia rounded and pressed together, forming a beautiful cleft, no inner labia showing. And there, half way down, just the tip of her clitoris peeked out at me.

It was a disorienting experience to finally see her in her exquisite beauty, naked, and so sensual, so unbelievably desirable. Her youth was a powerful draw. Hunger rose in me, my mouth actually watering at the prospect of my lips touching hers.

Moving down, I settled between her legs, lifting her knees, her feet spread. Her cleft flowered open just enough to expose her long clitoral hood and a dark shadow of more below, glistening, moist, so powerfully attractive.

Then it hit me: I caught her scent; sweet with a hint of musk. It went straight to my brain befuddling me. My heart raced; tremors of excitement coursed through me. This was my daughter's pussy! This was my little girl's pussy! Closing my eyes, I kissed the top of Sia's mons, pressing my lips into her succulent pad. Her scent strengthened drawing my kiss lower to touch her clit, then lower still. Finally, I tasted her. Sia's moist arousal was silken on my lips, warm, a light almost sweet flavor, pure ambrosia. Like an addictive psychedelic drug, it brought thundering desire, an aching, straining erection, precum spreading on the bed, and images; images of me taking her, being buried inside Sia's young body, holding my daughter, actually loving her. It was overwhelming, too erotic. I was one nudge away from losing control. I'd never experienced this level of excitement mixed with desire and raw basal urges.

"Dad?"

SIA WONDERED WHY DAD'S eyes were closed and why he paused, or was breathing so deeply. Dark hazel eyes appeared. He smiled. A flush of warmth and love joined her arousal. It was an amazing mix of emotions. His hands caressed the sides of her butt and slipped up, settling on her breasts giving her a soft caress. She groaned silently when he tweaked her nipples, pleasure sparking, warmth washing through her. She wanted more. She wanted Dad, all of him just for her, for ever for her.

His touch was gentle. That gorgeous twinkle of delight returned to his eyes. Then he kissed her pussy again, his tongue touching her clit. It felt like she'd been shocked, electricity racing through her, exciting, arousing. A warm tongue probed and goose bumps emerged on her arms, arm hair standing up. Welcome waves of pleasure arrived, so horny, Daddy.

He sucked her clit softly. She groaned, her pussy throbbing and aching, moist, leaking. Her nipples responded growing sensitive to his caress, more pleasure warming her. Another suck, his tongue teasing her, and a stronger wave of pleasure rushed through her curling her toes. Pressure built inside, her muscles tensing slightly. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the new experience, the sensations in her body all-consuming, the feeling of Dad's mouth on her pussy so incredibly exciting. When his tongue probed inside her a sudden hard pulse of pleasure drove her arousal to new, dizzying heights. It was like losing control of herself, floating on a cloud, reacting to Dad's loving, body pulsing. Her hands curled into fists grabbing the bed sheet as stronger sensations arrived.

Involuntarily, her hips moved, pressing her pussy to Dad's mouth, pleasure now stringing her body tight. Her heart raced. Breathing became hard. The sensation of Dad's tongue slipping down her cleft again, probing into her deeply, then returning her clit, was almost too much, too good.

He sucked her clit hard.

Sia gasped quietly. An intense wave of pleasure washed over her, her body reacting, stomach muscles aching from tension, trembling. Another wave of pleasure hit, now almost painful in its intensity, body cramping, too much pleasure. She couldn't breathe!

Suddenly, raw heat exploded through her radiating up from her pussy to her face. "Oh Gawd. Daddy!" she gasped. Sia lost control. She fell uncontrollably into her orgasm.

Sound muted as her body relaxed and cramped again, painful with pleasure. She heard herself groan aloud. Explosion. Oh God, release! Sweet release! She grunted from the intensity. Her body surged and Sia climaxed hard, hard, painful tightness turning into liquid bliss, her hips scrubbing against Daddy's mouth. Wave after wave of ecstasy pummeled her, Daddy sucking her clit! She gasped, gripped the bed, her legs snapping closed against Daddy's head. On a wave of utter bliss, she floated away, beautiful release, so perfect, so perfect.

Sia was only dimly aware of Dad moving her body, pulling her close, his scent strong. Her body wouldn't respond to her. She was limp and utterly drained. Sleep called insistently. Snuggling into his side, she drifted away.

IT WAS VERY LATE. The bedroom was dark, television off. Sia slept soundlessly against my side, naked and warm. She didn't move from where I'd gathered her, holding her with one arm, her small breast pressed to my side. My mind was too busy to sleep.

Sia filled my thoughts. She'd revealed some interesting truths I now had to face. I had to face the fact that incest excited me powerfully; a new aspect to my sexuality. I had to admit I was deeply aroused by Sia's petite, adolescent body; her slenderness, her small, perfect breasts, and, dear God, her most beautiful pubescent pussy. I had to accept that her youth added a new dimension to my desire.

There was more, though. Sia's cleft was so small. Her pussy looked lush and ripe and large relative to her slender body, but it was, in fact, small, still immature. I was torn by conflicting feelings. On one hand, the thought of intercourse with her excited me no end. I couldn't stop thinking about how tight she might be, or how it would feel to be buried inside her while holding her close, making love to my sweet girl. But, Sia didn't feel old enough for intercourse. Probing into her cleft with my tongue had reinforced how tiny her vagina was. She'd never be able to handle an adult erection, my erection, without experiencing significant pain. And, was she emotionally mature enough to even make that decision? I knew with absolute certainty I would never regret taking Sia as my lover, but would she?

Shouldn't she be given the opportunity to save her virginity for that special person in her future? Shouldn't I be strong enough to make sure she has that option?

And, what about me? If this relationship flourished fully would I be as enamored with her when she was sixteen? Twenty? Thirty?

The answer scared me. I would. I adored Sia and loved her. Shame didn't sit well when I recognized I loved my daughter more intensely than I'd loved Soraya, my wife. Why was it different, so much stronger?

Pale moonlight reflecting off pristine snow gave the bedroom a bluish-grey light, bright for so late at night.

Anger rose inside. I was severely disappointed in my seesaw commitment; deciding intercourse with Sia was acceptable, a wholly selfish decision, then changing my mind and deciding it was wrong.

It annoyed me. I'd never had a problem making a decision and sticking to it, but, with Sia, I'd lost that clarity and commitment.

Minutes passed in silence, Sia's soft breath brushing against me. I caressed her naked back. Glancing down at her, I studied her sweet beauty. Asleep, she appeared more childlike, at peace, long lashes, pale freckled cheekbones, beautiful lips, sensuous mouth. Her nostrils flared with each gentle breath. She looked like an angel, perfect, sweet. She was so special.

I made a decision. I'd always wanted my daughter to have every opportunity in her life. She should have the choice of who would be her first when she matures; sixteen, or eighteen preferably.

It was the right thing to do. Until then, we could have some sexy fun if she wanted. There were so many ways to pleasure each other without intercourse.

Decision made, commitment restored, sleep finally arrived.

Chapter Nine

Friday was busy. I was up and off to work early. Sia was still in bed when I kissed her forehead goodbye. I shook her and reminded her it was still a school day. She shifted and muttered something into the pillow.

She was gone by the time I came back from work. Her sleepover at Lara's included a Friday night movie, and other strange activities; fashion talk, boy talk, relationships, music. On the positive side (not that there was much positive without Sia being home), while eating leftovers for dinner and sipping an Indian Pale Ale, I could indulge in a documentary marathon.

From the mystical nature of Mozambique, to five episodes of How Do They Do That? I kept my mind pleasantly occupied. The hardest part of my solitude was the emptiness in bed. I missed Sia sleeping with me. I was also horny as heck.

It was a condition I took care of, with delightful memories enhancing my pleasure considerably, my orgasm not nearly as satisfying as it used to be pre-Sia.

SIA LAUGHED AT ROBIN'S story about her date with Bill Hall. "You're terrible!" she exclaimed.

"What? It was fun," Robin claimed. "He blushes at everything. All I had to do was touch his knee and he'd blush. It was like a signal light; touch his arm, blush, smile at him, blush, rub his leg with my foot, furious blush."

"You're mean!" Lara said, laughing.

Robin grinned. "I liked it. It's sweet. Besides, can that boy kiss!"

"Oh m'God! You kissed him?" Jasmin asked, blushing.

"Well, duh! Date? Kiss?" Robin responded.

"What else happened?" Lara asked. When Robin blushed, Lara urged, "Come on. You've gotta tell!"

"I let him feel me."

"No!" Lara said breathlessly. "Like, how far? How was it? How did it feel? Did you feel him, too?"

Sia smiled to herself. She wondered what her friends would say if she told them about what Dad and her had done last night. They'd never believe her. Then, a thought struck her. What if they really knew? What if they reported it? It brought home how important it was to keep it a secret.

". . . and he touched my breast over my sweater when we kissed! He was so careful it was cute."

"Did it make you horny?" Lara probed.

"Yeah!"

The conversation drifted into makeup, Lara getting up from bed to show everyone her latest purchases. All too soon, they were practicing applying makeup, critiquing each other, making suggestions and lewd comments, laughing.

But that night Sia felt lonely. She missed cuddling with Dad. She missed his scent and his warmth, the comfort he provided, and his soft, gentle kisses, so loving. She missed being naked with him, bare skin pressed to bare skin, so intimate. The sleepover lost some of its appeal. She wished it was over. She wondered what it would feel like to make love with Dad - intercourse - her first and only lover. Would it be as powerful as oral sex? More powerful? How could it be more powerful? It would kill her. Last night's climax was actually painful when it started and explosive in its release.

Had Dad really liked oral sex or was it something he did for her? She needed to ask. Had it turned him on? She tried to imagine giving Dad oral sex. A tingle of excitement started. She wanted to. She really wanted to try it, give Dad pleasure. She wanted see Dad cum, too. What would it look like to see him pulsing and spurting?

Shuddering, she rolled onto her side, squeezed her thighs together, her pussy aching for his touch. She wished she was at home now. Did Dad miss her as much as she missed him? Saturday couldn't come fast enough.

LIFE BRIGHTENED AS INTENSELY as a blinding sun reflecting off pristine white snow, when Sia breezed in the front door at two-fifteen.

"I'm home, Dad!"

My heart actually reacted, beating faster. Damn, I'd missed her!

Sia gave me a tight, tight hug, whispering, "I missed you so much."

"It was one night," I told her with a smile.

She smiled brightly, eyes twinkling. "It was one night too long. Did ya miss me?"

"Nope. Hardly knew you were gone."

Sia laughed brightly. "Liar. I'm gonna change."

The afternoon passed quickly. Sia followed me around as I did Saturday chores, giving me a blow-by-blow recounting of her sleepover; Robin's date, the movie, "Brooklyn was really good, Dad. You should see it," and some new makeup she now needed. But, despite her apparent buoyancy, there was something more somber in her eyes. She couldn't hide her emotions from me, her sky blue and hazel eyes were just too expressive. I could see thoughts and questions flit through them. Occasionally I caught her studying me when she couldn't see my face, her expression thoughtful. I wondered what it was that troubled her. I found out as she sat at the kitchen table while I prepared veal piccata al limone with fettuccine.

"Dad? Would it bother you if I asked you about us?"

"About us?"

"Yeah. I've got questions. About what we've done. Sex and stuff."

"Are you regretting things?" I asked, a bit concerned.

"Gawd, no. But, it's sorta embarrassing for me to talk about it."

Setting the knife aside, I turned to face her. I admired how fresh and sweet she looked in jeans and her dark purple T-shirt, her thick hair pulled into a ponytail riding high on her head. Her eyes were hesitant, searching mine.

"Sweetheart, you shouldn't be embarrassed to talk about anything with me. We've become more than father and daughter, at least, that's what I feel. It would be wrong if I didn't know what's on your mind, or you not know what's on mine. Complete honesty will make our relationship much better. No secrets between us, okay?"

She smiled softly. "Kay."

"So, what's on your mind?" I asked, turning back to the counter. I thought it might be easier for her to talk if I wasn't studying her.

"Do guys like girls to talk dirty when they have sex? It seems really fake to me."

Somewhat shocked, I asked, "Where, exactly, did you see that, young lady?"

"Dad, stop being stupid. Porn's all over the Internet."

"But, why would you be watching it?" I asked, not very pleased.

"I had questions. So, do guys like it?"

"I imagine some do."

"Do you?"

Dropping a knob of butter into the frying pan, it sizzled. I sliced a ripe lemon and dropped the slices into the butter while considering how to answer Sia.

"It's not the words that are crude, it's how they're used. It's all in tone of voice, delivery, and context."

"How so?"

"Well, if someone sees something and says 'Fuck me' in amazement it's completely different than someone who says 'Fuck you' in a hard voice."

"That's what I thought. So, you don't like that stuff?"

"If you're referring to what professional porn actors do, no. I don't mind the words, just how they are delivered."

I stirred the pasta in the boiling pot and added thin-sliced, milk-fed veal to the frying pan, placing each piccata between the lemon slices, and wondered what my far-too-curious daughter would come up with next. I wasn't disappointed.

"The other night my climax was almost painful. I've never had one like that before. Is it always like that when you have sex with someone?"

"Did you like it?"

"Well, yeah! It was amazing. I just have questions."

With a chuckle, I shook my head. "Climaxes range from soft and sensual to hard and exhausting. It depends on what you're doing and feeling."

A short silence ensued. I flipped the veal and drained the pasta, steam wafting up to fog the kitchen window.

"If I wanted to do what we did the other night again, how would I ask you?"

"Just like you did. Is that what you want?"

Sia replied with a question, "What if I wanted to do something else?"

"You'd ask." I plated dinner.

"I could ask for anything?"

"Not exactly. Can you set the table?"

Sia rose, opened a drawer for cutlery. "What is 'not exactly'?"

Placing the plates at the table, I clarified. "I'd never agree to do anything that caused you pain or humiliated you."

"Like what?"

I smiled. It was just like Sia to interrogate me, but sex added to the equation brought a rather interesting dimension. "Like anything that causes pain or humiliation."

I expected her to probe for clarification until I was stripped bare of any obfuscation. Clearly, I still had a lot to learn about her mental wiring.

She took a sniff of the veal, nodded in satisfaction - it passed her demanding scent test - and took a bite. Looking up at me, smiling while chewing, eyes twinkling with mischief, she poked her fork at me a few times, swallowed and said, "I want us to try something tonight."

I wondered what she wanted me to do to her. This was interesting.

Sia, after swallowing a mouthful of lemony pasta, continued, "Don't worry. It doesn't involve pain or humiliation . . . at least I don't think so."

Despite my inferior interrogation skills, Sia wouldn't say another word about it. It made for some extraordinarily visual speculation on my part; Sia naked, lying on her front, me caressing her glorious little buttocks, mounds of endless pleasure, a kiss or two, perhaps a loving suck, a hickey to brand her. Did she have dimples above her cheeks? What would the sexy gap look like from behind?

Events didn't unfold as I'd envisioned. Maybe I pressed her too hard. But, while on the living room couch, giving her toe pokes, urging her, "Come on, tell," she refused, a smirk on her pretty face.

"Stop poking me, Dad."

"Come on, honey. I'm dying here," I pleaded with another poke.

"No."

"Sia, honey, have some compassion. Tell me," I tried yet again, giving her a hard poke.

"Stop!" Her leg kicked out in retaliation.

Pain exploded in my groin, a white-hot lance of breath-stealing pain. Breathing stopped as I curled into a ball grasping my groin. I fell off the couch, stars emerging, an iron band squeezing my chest. Holy fuck!

"Oh God! I didn't mean to do that!" my daughter exclaimed, jumping up and kneeling next to my contorting body. "I'm sorry! Really sorry!" she exclaimed.

I managed a guttural grunt, relieved when I could breathe shallowly, thankful I hadn't died from asphyxiation. Curled up, cupping my balls, I suffered from wave after agonizing wave of pain, mentally swearing. Fuck, it hurt.

"Dad? Dad? Can you talk?"

Cramps finally eased. I rolled onto my back, sweating. Mismatched eyes peered down at me, expression worried, dark hair a mess.

"Dad?"

Breaths slowly became deeper, pain fading to a gut-clenching ache. When I could breathe, I asked, "Why did you have to practice your self-defense skills on me?"

Sia grinned in relief. "You shouldn't have poked me so much. I told you to stop."

"But, attempted murder?" I asked, giving her a weak smile.

"Sorry."

Eventually I made it back to the couch. I noticed with amusement my sensitive daughter kept her foot well away from my groin, settling for a soft, apologetic caress of my calf.

Pain faded into a dull ache. A scotch helped it disappear. We chatted, watched a documentary called CSI Cyber, at least it was a documentary according to Sia.

Later, when we headed to bed, happily anticipating having Sia back in bed with me, she stopped me mid-way into the bedroom.

Moving close to my front, she looked up. "I'd like to undress you. Can I?"

"Can I undress you?" I asked.

"Uh-huh. But me first."

She rose up onto her toes, eyes bright and expectant, her arms reaching up. I bent, my lips brushing against hers, lingering lightly. It was one of those sweet, meaningful kisses of hers I loved so much, full of adoration and love.

Her fingers eased my Polo shirt up and off before trailing her fingertips through my chest hair. She kissed my chest while easing her hand inside the waist of my jeans. The button popped open. A lowered zipper sounded surprisingly loud. I thought she'd tug the jeans off, but nope. Never predictable, Sia eased her hand into the waist of my boxers and down, her small hand cold. She found my penis just as it woke from its slumber and she fondled me, bringing me slowly to a full erection with exploratory squeezes and strokes. It was stupendously sexy to be groped by my daughter. She turned her face up and smiled with satisfaction at my new condition, removing her hand.

"I wanted to feel it grow," she said softly.

"Congratulations. You succeeded."

She giggled, shoved my jeans down, and stepped back to study the tent in my boxers. Seemingly pleased, she tugged my boxers down, my cock springing up.

"My turn?" I asked, my voice a bit husky for some strange reason.

"Uh-huh," she replied, distracted by my erection.

Does seduction come naturally to teenage girls? If not, where do they learn it? Not to be outdone by a thirteen-year-old, I used some well-honed, if slightly rusty, seductive skills myself.

I started with feather-light brushes, just the back of my hand against the tip of her small breast as I brought my hand up to curl a stray wavy tress of hair behind her ear, pausing to touch her earlobe and trace a fingertip down the side of her neck.

My hand descended, the back brushing against the tip of her other breast on its way to trace the outline of her pussy over her jeans.

Sia's eyes widened. I smiled.

A gentle squeeze brought heat into her expression, very attractive. With both hands, I tugged the hem of her T-shirt out and lifted. She raised her arms. Her bare stomach appeared. My breath caught at the sight of a white lacy bra, small breasts seen clearly, dusky pink areolae, nipples. It stopped me, the sight so damned sexy. Frustrated with waiting for me, Sia took over, removing the T-shirt and dropping it to the floor. I wasn't ready to proceed. I was too taken with the dichotomy of pubescent breasts coddled by such adult-looking sexy lace. Beautiful. I cupped one gently, such a delightfully small palmful.

"Hurry up, Dad. You're too slow."

"Exposing such beauty requires time to fully worship," I replied.

"Do you want me to take my jeans off?"

"God, no!"

Properly chastised, I unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped them and paused again. The top of matching white lacy panties were very distracting. My heart beat harder. With thumbs hooked in the waist, I tried to edge her tight jeans down without disturbing her panties. A couple of failed attempts and Sia joined in the effort with her hands and a seductive little butt wiggle.

The jeans fell to the floor. Jesus! Her panties hugged her pussy. With the lace she looked hairless, her mons full, lush. I adored the gap at her thighs and how lace coddled her vulva so seductively.

So rapt by the sight, I didn't notice her unclasp her bra. She shrugged it off and reached for her panties.

"No! Keep them on," I urged.

"Okay."

When I reached for her, she backed off, took my hand and backed up towards the bed, leading me. I moved to lie down. She stopped me.

"No. Up on your knees," she instructed.

It occurred me she had a specific script. Her comment about wanting to try something came to mind. What was she planning?

I knelt on the bed. Sia knelt in front of me and moved in, her arms slipping around my waist. Her soft smile and upturned face needed no interpretation. Holding her narrow hips, I drew her close, my erection trapped between us, bent my head and kissed her earning a quiet purr of contentment. She pressed herself to me. My hands drifted behind her to cup each panty-clad buttock, each a perfect handful, so damned sexy. I felt her breasts pressed against me, firm and sensual.

Just as I sucked her lower lip, her hand eased between us and gently wrapped around my shaft. A pulse of pleasure warmed me.

"I'm gonna try something," she said quietly. "I hope you like it."

With that, she eased away, bent, supporting herself with one arm, and kissed the tip of my erection, giving the shaft a slow stroke.

"Sia . . ."

Her mouth opened, lips slipping over the tip, slowly taking the crown into her warm, moist mouth. With the sensation of suction, my cock swelled. Jesus! Did Sia want to suck me off?

"Sia . . ."

She pulled back, eyes turning up. "Did I do it wrong?"

"God no! But . . . are you sure this is what you want? You don't need to do it just to please me."

She stroked my shaft slowly. "I wanted to try it. Can I?"

Excitement played through her eyes. Clearly she wanted to. I nodded. The warmth of her mouth almost had me groaning. The sight of her, on her knees and hand, her gorgeous panty-clad ass forming seductive curves, a slender waist, narrow back, thick ponytail, and her young mouth stretched around an adult erection was crazy sexy.

A soft tongue caressed the underside of my crown making me swell again, my erection now rigid, pulsing. Her hand stroked. Easing off, she kissed the tip, her eyes upturned to me, such a sexy sight. She smiled lightly and pressed her lips to the tip, pressed again, and slowly let her mouth open to take twice as much inside. God help me! How much longer could I last? Did she want me to cum in her mouth?

Sia sat back on her heels, rose to her knees, her hand still holding my erection. She moved into me, stroking my cock, and smiled.

"Do you like it so far?" she asked.

Bending, I took her face in my hands and kissed her, lips pressing. She opened her mouth when I probed with my tongue and sucked it. Jeeesus! The kiss ended.

"I guess that's a yes?" she asked brightly.

Hell yes!

Shuffling back, Sia bent again, guiding my cock to her mouth. She kissed her way down the shaft and back up. Where the hell had she learned this? Her hand held my testicles very gently, my erection bobbing up and down, straining. Without the help of a hand, she took me into her mouth, drawing me deeper and easing back, drawing me deeper still and easing back. I groaned aloud at the sensation, so damned erotic, and watched Sia smile with her mouth full, her eyes looking up, excitement glistening in them.

She wasn't just sucking me, Sia was making love to my erection. Then she combined actions; hand stroking my shaft, head moving taking me deep, backing off until her lips touched the tip, and then deep again, fucking me with her mouth. Pleasure flooded me and built, and built. Pressure arrived, that first sign of an orgasm, heaviness in my groin, erection now straining. About to pull her off, Sia shocked me. She started humming and sucking, a sound of pleasure, "Mmmm". I felt it vibrate on my cock and through me, right to the trigger of my orgasm.

It was too much. The sight of a thirteen-year-old, my little girl, sucking me off and humming with pleasure was way, way too much. I managed a grunt and suddenly, uncontrollably, I was cumming, semen rushing up my swelling shaft. I exploded, inadvertently thrusting deeper into her mouth, sweet bliss thundering in. Sia gagged. A second hard spurt erupted, glorious bliss slamming into me. Sia, coughing, pulled her mouth off, thick white semen on her mouth. Another pulse hit me, ecstasy flooding me, cum launching in a thick rope to hit her cheek. Amazing me, Sia bent and locked her mouth around the tip of my cock and I came hard, spurting into her warm mouth, cumming, spurting again and again until the fury of my orgasm suddenly ended.

I was dizzy.

My heart was racing, chest heaving. Sweet post-orgasmic languor settled over me. Sia stunned me again, sucking my tip before kissing it, then sitting back and smiling at me, a blush emerging. God she was sweet.

As we cuddled under the covers, I asked something that had been on my mind. No girl could know how to do what she had done by instinct alone. So how did she know?

She answered. "I accidentally watched a video on my iPhone. The girl was doing that to the guy."

"But what made you want to try it?" I asked.

"The guy seemed to really like it." Sia snuggled closer to me.

"So, you did it for me?"

"Partly . . . well mostly. I mean you gave me oral sex the other night and I thought it only fair, you know?"

I laughed softly. "Sweetheart, what I did to you was entirely for my pleasure. It just so happened you enjoyed it, too."

Sia glanced up at me and grinned. "I really enjoyed myself, Dad. Is it bad that I like your erection so much?"

"No. But did you really enjoy doing that to me?"

"Yeah. Actually, I'm pretty horny now."

I loved her openness. I adored her honesty. Just thinking about my daughter being horny was almost enough to arouse me again.

"Well," I said rolling to face her, "we can't have that."

"What 'cha gonna do?" she asked.

Pulling her against me, I stroked down her side, up over her hip, and down her thigh, reaching around to the back of her knee. I kissed her softly, lingering, loving her. With gentle pressure, I drew her knee up, lifting her leg to rest over mine.

Sucking her lovely lower lip, my hand slipped up the inside of her thigh, edging higher and higher. She inhaled slightly when the side of my index finger nestled to the side of her panty-clad pussy. Teasing her, I traced it across the rise of her vulva to the other side, drew it higher to her hip and hooked a finger under the waist of her panties.

Kissing her gently, I eased the waist down her hip to her thigh. Reaching down, Sia lifted slightly to give me access and I drew the other side of her panties down. She moved, slowly kicking them off, all the while kissing me, then placed her knee back over my leg.

The kiss ended with a sigh of contentment. She nestled her face into me. I caressed her naked buttock, moved to her knee and began the journey up the inside of her thigh once again.

This time, warmth and a naked pussy greeted the side of my index finger; thrilling. I eased the length of my finger up and over her vulva, passing her cleft, then down the other side, ending with my finger nestled between her pussy and thigh.

Sia's warm breath wafted against my chest, clean and sweet. She was delicate against me, so intensely desirable. I pressed my lips to her forehead and inhaled her scent deeply.

From behind, my finger moved to settle along her cleft. I pressed gently. In a stupendously erotic move, her labia yielded, oozing apart to hug my finger in a warm, moist embrace. I loved Sia's silken arousal, such a surprising sexual response in one so young.

Slowly, very slowly, I pressed my finger deeper, a side-to-side movement, and found her clitoris. Sia inhaled audibly. She murmured her pleasure and snuggled closer to me, her hand reaching around to caress my back. Using her natural lubrication, I began stroking her with just the side of my index finger along her cleft. I rubbed her clitoris gently, soft strokes, arousing her, helping her build towards heaven.

The first sign of her condition started with a slight twitch of her pelvis. Another arrived a few seconds later, then another. Suddenly, Sia's cleft became damper, slippery, silky, so warm. I actually felt blood flow into my cock. It thickened against her in a renewed erection.

Sia's pelvis twitched again, and a few moments later again, my finger stroking her gently. The twitches changed into rhythmic humping, still very subtle, sweet, exciting. Her breathing deepened. She stopped caressing my back and held onto me, her face now nestled firmly against me. A sigh emerged, her pelvis rocking, rubbing her pussy along my finger. She was close.

Then my daughter gifted me with the sweetest climax. She whispered, "Daddy," so lovingly it resonated in my soul. Her body trembled, a quiet moan broke the silence and Sia came. Gasping quietly, she humped my finger and shook, ecstasy washing through her. Her bottom moved, humping smoothly, breaths hot and heavy, her pussy now very slippery. With a body-tensing groan, Sia collapsed, her body going limp, soft and sexy. She stilled.

I had a full erection. I adored her soft climax. Somehow, it was more intimate than the fury of the last one, more personal, a gift only for me.

Chapter Ten

Sunday didn't go well. Sia stared daggers at me, standing in front of me as I lounged on the couch.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she said forcefully.

Perhaps I had mishandled it a bit. But, when she'd asked if we could make love tonight, I'd declined. She didn't seem to understand how petite she was, thirteen or not, or how much it would hurt; or if it was even physically possible. She wasn't swayed by my promise to have intercourse when she was seventeen or eighteen, either. Besides, I'd made a commitment to myself.

"I'm not kidding, Sia. I told you, it's too soon."

I tried to explain how absolute the step of intercourse was, that she'd be better off waiting in case she met the right guy; how once taken, it was for ever gone, no return. Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned emotional maturity.

"I can't believe you!" she said angrily. "After everything we've . . ." Following a pause, eying me with a blue eye that had turned decidedly icy and a hazel eye that had darkened ominously, she stated, "Well if you won't, I'll find someone else who will!"

My heart constricted. "You'd never hurt me like that," I responded.

"Oh! So it's okay for you to hurt me, but I'd never hurt you?! Really? That's what you think?"

"Sweetheart . . ."

She limped out of the living room without letting me finish. Her bedroom door slammed shut. My first instinct was to go after her but common sense prevailed. She needed to stew a bit and burn through her anger. Logic would return. It always did when she got into one of her rare tempers.

By four in the afternoon I hadn't seen hide nor hair of her. Going to her door, I knocked. "Sia?"

"I don't want to talk to you!"

Turning away, I went and puttered around in the kitchen. Man, did I hate Sundays. Around six I began dinner preparations. At six-twenty, now more than concerned, I knocked on her door again. "Dinner's almost ready."

"I'm not hungry!"

"Sia, we need to talk," I informed her through the closed doors.

"Go away! I don't want to talk to you!"

This was one of those moments. Intimacy aside, I was her father. It was my responsibility to help her accept the situation. Steeling myself, I opened the door and entered. Sia was on her back, her head propped up with pillows, her iPhone in her hands. She didn't even look at me.

"I said I don't want to talk to you," she repeated.

"Well, I need to talk to you." Sitting on the edge of her bed, I placed my hand on her thigh. She shook it off. Damn.

"Listen, honey, I only want what's best for you."

"No you don't. You only want what's best for you," she said interrupting me.

"Sia?" I said, and waited for her to look at me. It hurt to see the redness in her eyes. I'd seen my daughter furious. I'd seen her sad. I couldn't remember ever seeing her angry and red-eyed from crying. "Do you, even for a minute, believe I don't want to make love with you? I can't imagine anything I want more."

Her eyes studied me. I continued.

"You are a remarkable girl. I'm more proud of you than I've ever been. What we've done together, that intimacy, should be proof of how I'm enamored with you. But, what you're asking . . . I'm not even sure if you're physically ready for it. I just don't know. And, even though you disagree, you might find someone later and regret what happened. Do you understand?"

Enchanting eyes studied me, beautiful eyes full of emotions. "But I chose you, Dad. You're the one I want. Won't you at least consider it?"

I sighed. This was so much harder than I'd expected. When I rubbed her leg she let me; progress. Truth was, if I could be sure it wouldn't hurt her, if I could be absolutely sure she was serious and aware of the magnitude of it, that she'd never regret it, I wanted nothing more than to make love to her. But, I still hesitated. I'd made a committed decision. Perhaps I could delay her.

"Okay, honey. I'll consider it."

Sia smiled. "Promise?"

I nodded. "Promise."

"Kay. What's for dinner? I'm hungry."

Sia was hungry, just not for what I'd cooked. She sniffed the ravioli on her plate and announced, "Spinach. I don't like spinach."

"You like spinach, Sia."

She sniffed her food again. "Not anymore. It smells hinky," she said with a wrinkle of her nose.

I had an immediate vision of Sia at six years old, arms crossed, a cute frown on her face, staring at a small pile of wilted green spinach on her plate, "It's yucky, Daddy. I shouldn't eat it."

I studied my plate. There was no sign of the spinach and feta cheese filling. I sniffed; garlic, basil, tomato sauce, and rich cream - all ingredients of a rosé sauce.

"I'm gonna have cereal. Did you buy Froot Loops?"

Froot Loops? When did . . . I gave up. "No. I didn't buy Froot Loops. When did you ask for them?"

"I put them on the list. Right here," she announced, pointing at the shopping list on the refrigerator door before opening it and hunting for food.

Personally, I thought dinner was great.

The week passed quickly. We were busy with life; shopping, some much needed winterizing around leaky windows, and Sia's homework. But, every night Sia slipped her bathrobe off and cuddled naked to me. Some nights she wanted to kiss and cuddle, some nights she wanted some sexy groping, giggles muffled by a quilt, and inevitably, some beautiful climaxes ensued. She continued to amazed me with the variety of her orgasms; soft and sexy, hard and thrashing, and I just couldn't get used to how wet she'd become. It never failed to arouse me.

On Thursday, as Sia lounged in front of the television while chatting on her iPhone, I struggled with dinner. Cooking for her was problematic. I couldn't tell how she'd react to things. With a sniff, lifetime food addictions seemed to have lost their appeal to her. Aside from a few childhood favorites, I had pretty much run out of menu ideas. Tonight I was trying garlic-butter stuffed chicken breasts with a creamy herb mushroom sauce reduction, oven-roasted small potatoes with rosemary, and asparagus. It was a risk. She used to hate asparagus as a child. But hell, what else was there?

"Dad?" Sia yelled.

"In the kitchen," I called out.

Sia appeared, her iPhone in her extended hand. "Mrs. Sanderson wants to talk to you."

"Who?"

"Jasmin's mom."

Wiping my hands, I took the phone. As I raised it to my ear Sia whispered, "Say yes, Dad."

"Hello?"

"It's Mrs. Sanderson," a soft melodious voice said. "Jasmin suggested I call after she talked to your daughter. I hate to bother you, Mr. Hicks, but . . ."

"I prefer Philip," I suggested, interrupting her. "Mr. Hicks makes me look for my father."

She laughed, a sparkling laugh that made me smile, "In that case, you should call me Alia," pronouncing her name almost lyrically, Ah-lee-ah.

"So, Alia, what can I do for you?"

"I know it's short notice, and I don't want to impose, but I've been called to a sales conference at the head office - a three day stay, unfortunately. Our usual babysitter, Susan, had to cancel. She caught the flu, and, well, Jasmin mentioned that your daughter said you'd consider having her over." She continued in a rush, "Sia and Jasmin are such good friends, but if two teenagers are too much to handle, I can . . ."

"Alia," I interrupted, "It'll be a pleasure. How much harder can it be to look after two teenage girls than the one I have? Besides, Sia just ordered me to say yes."

Alia laughed. "Thanks so much. You're a real lifesaver. Be warned, though, two teenage girls are not double the trouble, they're quadruple the trouble!"

I chuckled. "No problem. I have a television, music, and can order in every night. What could go wrong?"

"A lot. Trust me."

"In that case, I'll figure out some fitting payment when you get back. When should we expect Jasmin?"

"Um, tomorrow? Six-ish?"

"I'll be armed and ready." I liked her laugh.

Sia grinned broadly when I handed her the iPhone, excitedly talking to Jasmin.

Two teen girls? Hmmm.

Dinner was finally served with Sia bubbling about her and Jasmin's plans. I didn't follow most of it. Online shopping together didn't make sense to me. But, on the bright side, Sia sniffed her food, nodded her approval and cleaned her plate. I had a feeling she was too excited to notice the asparagus.

She wasn't. When she came to bed and cuddled, all naked and sexy and everything, while she switched the TV channel to Princess Bride, she commented, "I don't like asparagus."

Smiling, I asked, "The smell? Then why did you eat it?"

"I like the taste. But, jeez Dad, it makes my pee stink!"

It appeared our newfound intimacy was spreading to bodily functions. I smiled in amusement and tried to distract her with a kiss. It worked briefly but Sia's heart wasn't really in it. She was too excited by Jasmin's pending visit.

Somewhat disgruntled, I reminded her, "Don't forget to mess up your bed."

She paused. "Oh. I forgot. I can't sleep with you when Jasmin's here."

Well, duh!

Her kisses became more enthusiastic. Very nice.

Chapter Eleven

On Friday, I made a point of getting home early. Sia had promised to straighten up the house after school but I didn't have faith. I was right. Sia, aside from a welcoming smooch, was going through her closet. Why? Who the hell knows.

As I finished cleaning the bathroom, the front door bell sounded. I went towards the door. Sia breezed by me hobbling fast and had it open before I got there. Some squealing ensued.

I'd only seen Alia Sanderson in passing; enough to nod to. While Jasmin and Sia hugged and seemed to perform some dance of joy together, I smiled at Alia and extended my hand. Removing a glove, she took it, her hand slender and icy cold.

"Do you have some time?" I asked. "I've made coffee and would appreciate any words of wisdom you might have for my coming purgatory."

She laughed and nodded.

Sitting at the old oak kitchen table, I finally studied her. I recognized her from the school events we'd both attended but this was the first time I could observe her closely. She had her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of black coffee to warm up. Her fingernails were manicured with pale pink, pearlescent nail polish. From somewhere the sound of giggles drifted in.

Alia was a lovely lady. About my age or a couple of years younger, her skin was the color of ebony, her hair jet black and straight yet formed by small tight waves. Her large, exotically shaped, dark ebony eyes were captivating, but her other features were almost Caucasian; a slender nose, nice mouth, perfect lips with a hint of pale lipstick, and an almost delicate jawline. She wore her hair shortish, cut just below the back of her neck and pulled back into a small ponytail.

I liked her looks. She was an ebony version of Soraya; surprisingly petite in stature, her slenderness making her appear younger. But, like Soraya, it was the way she smiled. It was full and open, eyes sparkling, white teeth; powerful enough to light up a dark room. I'd always had a soft spot for world-class smiles. In a smart, light grey ladies business suit and a pale blue silk blouse, she was very elegant.

She tilted her head towards the kitchen door. "Are you sure you're prepared?" she asked, as squeals of laughter erupted followed by an ominous thump.

"I've been well trained by Sia. But two teenage hormonal girls is a bit daunting," I admitted.

Alia smiled in sympathy. "The secret is don't try to understand them. They'll confuse you with their logic and you'll find yourself agreeing to something you have no understanding of. That's when it gets dangerous."

"So, if I keep saying no, I'll be safe?"

She laughed. "I don't know about Sia, but Jasmin's never demonstrated an understanding of the word 'no'." She added, "My advice is stick to 'I'll think about it'."

Our conversation flowed easily for the next half hour or so. Alia, a financial planner, was articulate and sharp with a dry sense of humor. I liked her.

When Sia appeared in the doorway, Jasmin right behind her, and asked if they could sleep in the living room tonight, I said, "I'll think about it."

Alia nodded and smiled. "Well handled," she commented, after both girls left. Glancing at her watch, she exclaimed, "Oh my goodness. Look at the time! I'm late."

"Thank you so much, Philip. I owe you," she reiterated as she stepped outside.

"I'll make you pay," I replied with a grin. "Drive safely."

The next three days were confusing. Two teenage girls make a lot of noise but suddenly go silent. The silences worried me the most. What were they up to? Why did some of their conversations need to be conducted in whispers and giggles?

Jasmin was a shy girl. Every time she was in my presence, she seemed to hang back. She was polite enough, but subdued. Slightly taller than Sia, with masses of long black hair that fell in tight waves, she was physically slender but further along in pubescence than my daughter; her bust a bit more noticeable, her waist beginning to narrow. Her eyes were huge, dark and intense, and she was observant, quietly studying me when we were all together. I had the feeling she was wary of me.

It took a while for her to call me Philip and not Mr. Hicks, only agreeing when Sia insisted I was serious.

However, life took a strange turn on Saturday. Sia must have missed physical contact with me because, as I washed breakfast dishes, a hand groped my ass before sliding up under my T-shirt to rub my bare back. The plate slipped from my soapy fingers and shattered in the steel sink.

Glancing behind me, Sia grinned. "Sia!" I exclaimed, looking around to check for Jasmin.

"Don't worry. Jasmin's in the bathroom. You've got a nice tush, Dad! Miss me?"

Warning her not to do it again while we had a guest, Sia seemed unfazed. "So, no kiss?" she asked impishly.

My frown only made her laugh. She left the kitchen. I tried to calm my heart and shrug off the momentary panic I'd felt. What if Jasmin had seen that? I needed to have a word with Sia in private. How could I get her alone?

The day progressed without further transgressions. When listening to some ear-threatening loud music in the living room, music that crackled in my ears, both girls laughed at me when I suggested we listen to real music, "Like U2."

"That's not real music," Sia claimed. "And you can't dance to it."

"You can't dance to this, either," I yelled over the loud noise.

"Yes you can! Look!"

Sia stood and started something she claimed was a dance. It involved thrusting her hips, shaking her butt, squats, and other movements I associated with an adult only club; the ones with dark walls and cigarette smoke and raised stages with poles and a lecherous male audience. Jasmin observed from the side with a slight smile.

"Come on, Dad! You try," my daughter urged.

Feeling absurdly ridiculous, I stood and joined in. Sia collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles at my spirited effort. Even shy Jasmin burst into laughter. Before I knew it, I had two teenage girls dancing, demonstrating, laughing their heads off, and trying to force my body into impossible moves, trying to make my hips twitch, my ass shake. It didn't work . . . at all. But, somewhere in my embarrassing effort, Jasmin completely relaxed. She seemed to lose her shyness, her exotic eyes sparkling; as if she'd shed a coat of insecurity.

Falling back onto the couch, I was treated to two girls dancing in an outrageously suggestive way. Their bright smiles and pure pleasure was lovely to watch. They played off each other, their moves becoming more provocative, salt and pepper dancing. Thoughts turned slightly erotic at their movements. Sia, as if she knew what she was doing, grinned at me and moved her hips even more suggestively.

Ice had broken. Jasmin's personality emerged, a slightly subdued but equally sweet version of Sia; two peas in a pod. She seemed shocked when I stood and drew both of them into a tight hug, but an engaging smile emerged on her pretty face.

At dinner I inquired how, exactly, did the whole 'shopping online together' thing work?

Sia looked puzzled. Explaining to her idiot father, she said, "We look at stuff."

"So how does it work? Who surfs the Internet?"

"Daaaad, don't be dumb. We find stuff on our iPhones and text each other!"

"But, aren't you together? In the same room?" I asked, becoming more confused by the minute.

Jasmin laughed. Sia rolled her eyes. "We talk about other stuff. That's why we text."

I ceded defeat and shut up. Is this what technology had brought us?

THREE HOURS LATER, IN Sia's bedroom and lounging together on bed, darkness outside, Jasmin laughed with Sia as they watched a puppy fight with blowing autumn leaves, tumbling over big paws.

"Have you ever wanted a dog?" Jasmin asked.

"Yeah. But Dad says it's unfair on the dog if we're out all the time. Do you want a dog?"

"Uh-huh. But Mom says the same thing."

"So get a cat," Sia suggested.

"No way! I don't like cats."

"Me neither." Sia rolled onto her front and tapped on her iPhone. "Did you see the amazing skirts they have at Hollister? There's one I absolutely have to have. I'll find it online and show you."

Jasmin put her iPhone down. "How come you grabbed your dad's ass this morning?"

Sia gasped. She rolled onto her side. "Oh m'God! You saw that?" she exclaimed. "You can't tell anyone. Promise me!"

"When do I ever gossip?" Jasmin asked. "Doesn't it bother your dad?"

Heart racing, Sia tried to calm herself. She hadn't known Jasmin was out of the bathroom. Shoot! "You promise you won't tell?" she asked again.

Jasmin nodded.

Relieved, Sia answered. "He's got a great ass and, yeah, it bothers him. That's why I do it."

"You really like your dad, don't you?"

"Of course. Don't you like yours?"

When Jasmin remained silent, Sia suddenly remembered and felt guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Your dad's gone?"

Jasmin looked down at the bedspread and picked at it with her fingers. "Uh-huh."

"Where? Do you see him?"

"No. He's dead," Jasmin replied.

A minute of silence followed, Sia studying her friend. "Want to talk about it?"

Both girls chatted long into the night, Sia shocked and disbelieving at first, then sympathetic. Their friendship strengthened as the hours passed.

SUNDAY, LATE AFTERNOON, I found myself regretting Jasmin's departure. When her mother arrived, she amused me as soon as I opened the door.

"So, you're still alive," she observed with a wry smile.

I laughed. "You've raised a wonderful girl," I commented. "You must be proud."

Alia nodded. Something flitted through her eyes. With a smile, she said, "Very."

"Come on in. Jasmin's getting her things. By the way, do you understand this shopping online together and texting thing?"

Jasmin entered the hall with her small overnight bag dragging behind her. "Thanks for having me," she said, pausing to give me a tight hug before pulling her parka on. I noticed Alia's surprise at the hug. Why?

"It was a real education," I informed Jasmin. "It was great having you here."

As we waved goodbye, Sia, standing next to me, groped my ass. "Bye! See ya tomorrow," she yelled and in a lower voice, "Nice tush, Dad."

The minute the door closed, Sia leapt up at me wrapping her legs around my waist. She kissed me and sighed, satisfied. "I missed that," she announced extricating herself.

Later, in bed, Sia cuddled up to me, gloriously naked and sexy. After a couple of sweet kisses and me groping her wondrous naked butt, she casually announced, "I want a dog."

I loved dogs. But, who would look after it with Sia at school and me at work? "It's not that easy, honey."

"Will you think about it?"

I nodded. Sia, with a full body wiggle, snuggled close. Her eyes twinkled, full of charm and something else, her hand fishing down my body, finding my erection, gripping it gently. I kissed her, a soft press of lips and caressed the stupendously sexy shape of her buttock, trailing my fingertips down her butt crack. I adored her ass.

The kiss ended. "So, did you think about it?" she asked, her hand squeezing my shaft.

"You only just asked me."

A stroke of my shaft distracted me. Man, was I horny.

"Not about the dog. About making love," she clarified.

"I haven't decided yet."

Sia fiddled with my erection, waving it like a flag, her cheek on my chest. "I understand what you were talking about. You know, being sure I'm ready?"

Somewhat taken aback, I asked, "When did this miracle occur?"

Her eyes turned up to me. "I didn't say I agree. I said I understand."

"What changed?"

"Just something Jasmin said. She thinks you're really cute." Sia stroked my erection lightly. "I think so, too."

Removing her hand, she turned and crossed her arms on my chest, moving up and resting partially on top of me, resting her chin on her arms. "Did I thank you for letting Jasmin stay?"

"Nope."

She hooked her knee up, bringing it over my cock. "Thanks."

"That's it? No promise to do dirty dishes for a month?"

Her knee caressed me, my erection growing firmer. A glint emerged in her eyes. She gave me a sneaky smile. With a twist, she eased up to lay over me completely, sandwiching my erection between us. A cute body wiggle massaged me. Then she slid up for a kiss. She studied my eyes with her mismatched ones, flitting from eye to eye, smiled softly, and studied my mouth. "You're sexy," she announced, and brought her lips to mine.

The kiss was soft and sweet. I caressed her back and lower, finding her incredible buttocks. I loved fondling them. They were so compact, such perfect shapes, and fit my hands so wonderfully it excited me every time.

Our kiss deepened, Sia's tongue emerging to greet mine. Her eyes closed. She tilted her head and the kiss deepened, tongues probing, my cock flexing, precum leaking. I loved the feel of Sia on top of me, naked, petite and sexy.

Sia moaned into my mouth as we kissed. She dropped her legs to my sides and pressed her pussy against me. It was like a body shudder hit her. She humped, her pussy sliding up my shaft, and broke the kiss. "Oh Gawd that feels good," she murmured, repeating the motion.

It did. It felt wonderful. It felt like we were having sex, slippery precum spreading, her pussy rubbing, buttocks flexing in my hands.

She trembled when I stroked one side of her young body, and lifted slightly to let me cup her diminutive breast. With the pad of my thumb, I teased her nipple earning another shudder from her.

Our kiss resumed, just harder, hotter, tongues at war. Sia humped on top of me and, when the tip of my fingers reached down between her cheeks and discovered a very moist pussy, she grunted into our kiss. Humping evolved into hunching, her hips moving, scrubbing her pussy against my erection. Accidentally, she curled her pelvis too much. My hard erection popped up off my stomach and, when she pressed back, we both froze.

The tip of my erection was pressed against her cleft. Her eyes opened. She studied me and pressed back just the tiniest bit. I felt the pressure. Befuddled by arousal and adoration, things became simple when she whispered, "Daddy?", pleading with her eyes.

Everything became simple and crystal clear to me. I wanted Sia more than I'd wanted anyone. With a soft caress of her breast, I murmured, "Slowly, okay?"

"Kay," she whispered, pressing back at my erection.

I didn't move. Despite a growing desire to thrust, take her, find heaven, I let Sia take control. Her face nestled under my chin, arms around my neck, her breath hot. All senses moved to below. My cock throbbed, pulsing, precum leaking; I was so damned hard. With her pussy pressing against me, Sia tested, moving back and forth slightly. I actually shuddered when I felt her cleft yield, her labia welcoming my tip into a silky, warm, and very wet embrace. Sia paused. She moved again, easing up and pressing back in micro movements. Warmth spread over my crown as she took me a little deeper. Jesus, I was about to penetrate my little girl! My erection strained, rigid, aching, desire for her now almost uncontrollable.

Holding her with one hand on her back, I rested the other on her buttock ready to stop her, still afraid I'd hurt my child.

It seemed like minutes passed slowly. Sia's warm, sweet breath brushed against my neck. I had her innocent scent filling my lungs, flowery with just a hint of her arousal, very exciting. She was light on top of me, so sexy. And still she tested, pressing back onto my erection, easing off, pressing back a touch more firmly. I loved the sensation of being poised to take her, be her first. It no longer mattered to me if she succeeded in taking me inside. The sensation was enough. We were fucking; all the motions there, her pussy so damned warm, alive, moist. The tease of being on the cusp of full penetration was unbelievably thrilling. I lost myself in her, the sensations bombarding me were just too good, and I couldn't stop my body's reaction. It started with a twitch, my tip pressing at her entrance.

Sia moaned quietly, whispered, "Daddy," so softly, my desire surging. With infinite care we moved, little moves, gentle moves, each easing off and pressing back. Arousal built to a feverish level, cock straining.

It was almost anti-climactic. It shocked me. One minute we were pressing against each other and the next I almost came when Sia's pussy yielded, suddenly stretching to envelop my crown with a silken, warm embrace; so damned beautiful. All movement halted. I felt her tightness, a moist firm grip. Jesus Christ! I was there, penetrating my daughter and it felt wonderful.

Rhythmic pulses made my erection swell and ache, each throb making Sia's pussy feel tighter. Extreme arousal was disorienting. I was actually making love with Sia! I was inside my little girl's body! A sudden aching pulse warned me; I was very, very close to cumming.

Sia clenched her vagina on my crown and I had no control, none. With just the helmet penetrating her, a surge of pleasure slammed into me. "Sia, honey," I whispered and came hard. Semen surged up. My cock swelled. Ecstasy arrived as I exploded into her, semen spurting. With a gasp, my cock swelled and another powerful wave hit, cum jetting into her, sweet bliss arriving. Holding her on top of me, with one hand on her bottom, my cock throbbed and exploded, throbbed and exploded, semen jetting into her in exquisite pleasure. Not thrusting only strengthened the experience. Knowing I was cumming in my daughter added an intensity to my orgasm that was almost mind boggling. It swamped me, a storm of bliss, throbbing, spurting into her, cumming, cumming, Jesus, cumming Sia!

Something incredible happened. By the time I could breathe, when I opened my eyes, Sia was smiling at me, so sweet. She wiggled slightly and, shocking us both, I penetrated her effortlessly, gliding in, burying my still firm erection inside her, aided in no small measure by copious cum lubricating her insides.

Her eyes widened. She clenched her vagina gently to explore this new sensation of being filled. If it felt anywhere near as wonderful as it felt to me, she had to love it.

With one hand, I caressed her hair. "I'm sorry, honey. I came. I couldn't help it."

Sia smiled. "I know. I felt it." She clenched her vagina again, exquisite.

Pulling her face to me, I kissed her gently, her lips soft and warm.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"No. Just when it first went in." Another clench of her vagina and she continued, "I like you inside me, Dad. It feels really good. Does it feel as good to you?"

"It feels amazing to me, sweetheart. I'm so sorry I couldn't make your first time perfect."

Sia nestled her face to my neck again and relaxed on top of me. "It is," she said quietly. "It's exactly what I wanted."

"But you haven't cum," I pointed out.

"That doesn't matter. I wanted you inside me, you to be my first. I wanted to feel you in me and make you feel good."

Emotions threatened to swamp me, my heart aching. What did I ever do to deserve Sia? How did she ever get to be so sweet, so loving? Was it in her genes, passed down from Soraya?

Sia sighed, her breath warm. She snuggled against me; a kitten settling comfortably. I held her, enjoying her light weight, the youthful slenderness of her body, my hands caressing her back. She clenched her pussy, a gentle squeeze, and flooring me, I felt a stir inside, blood flowing back, my partial erection slowly changing, thickening.

Sia moved slightly. My cock throbbed, erection returning. "I felt that," she whispered, giving me another exquisite clench that drew a response; my cock lengthening even more. As it grew, Sia's pussy seemed tighter and tighter, a warm velvet glove gripping me completely.

She moaned quietly as I stretched her, fully erect, hard, pulsing. Her pussy became almost painfully tight, unlike anything I'd ever experienced, simply perfect.

When Sia tried to ease herself up and off, she made no progress, as if we were locked together. She pressed back on my erection and off again; too damned tight. Another attempt and release came suddenly, my cock sliding out, slipping in. Just like that, we were fucking gently; I was actually fucking my daughter!

Wrapping her in my arms, I rolled us, turning her onto her back. Now I could study her face and she could study mine. A slow smile emerged, her heels sliding up my legs, her thighs parting to cradle me. Withdrawing from her, I reversed, pressing in, burying myself inside her snug pussy. She reached up for my face, drawing me down. We kissed gently as I withdrew and thrust into her gently, slowly, extending the pleasure of fucking her. Our kiss deepened, tongues teasing.

Sia moaned when I probed my tongue onto her mouth, timing it to my gentle thrust into her pussy. Her arms wrapped around me and she joined in, curling her pussy up when I thrust, reversing as I withdrew. Her breath panted through her nose. Our pace increased, fucking each other gently, long strokes into her exquisitely tight pussy, back out, thrusting again, full strokes, my tip touching her end with each stroke. The intensity was astonishing, the sensations fantastic. Fucking my beautiful daughter was unbelievably erotic.

Our pace increased again, thrusting, withdrawing, thrusting against each other. Then Sia broke the kiss with a quiet gasp, "Daddy," her arms hugging me tight. She curled her pussy up at me, drawing me deep, so deep. Her body shuddered and, as my child fell into her soft sexy climax, panting, her petite body trembling, heels insistently tugging at me, her pussy started clenching my cock rhythmically as if milking it, so tight.

In one of the most loving orgasms I'd ever had, I came, cock swelling, semen flowing. Each thrust, each soft spurt, brought intense pleasure, exquisite release, my darling gasping quietly with each wave of her climax, her pussy milking me. I came completely, totally, fucking Sia gently, heaven arriving. Pulses slowly faded to leave me with pure love, adoration, my body sated. It was perfect.

Chapter Twelve

Monday morning was hectic. I woke up and immediately remembered every detail of making love to Sia. I had not one ounce of regret in me, not one. Despite my lack of control at the beginning, sex with her had been beyond anything I could have imagined. There was a mystical power to Sia's sweetness, her innocence and youth. The love and adoration I felt weighed heavy in my chest.

I also felt a morning erection. I quite liked the prospect of making love to Sia in the morning. Would she be too sore? Where was she? The bed was empty.

"Morning, Dad," she said with a shy smile, her mismatched eyes studying me as she came out of the bathroom wearing a thick white terry robe. Tendrils of hair had escaped her ponytail to frame her face. She looked so sweet.

"You better get up. It's six-thirty."

"So?"

She gave another shy smile. "It's Monday."

Oh shit!

In the rush to get to work, I managed a goodbye kiss and a fond caress of her jean-clad ass.

The day dragged endlessly, a yawning chasm of time moving at a sluggish pace. I was impatient to spend time with Sia. The interesting aspect to my impatience was my desire to be with her. Just that. Have her near.

I had questions, too. I wanted to know how Sia felt: Did she have regrets? Was she happy? Was it what she'd hoped for? Had her experience been as intense as mine? I had lots of questions.

Sia greeted me when I arrived. She smiled gently and moved in for a hug. It was wonderful to hug her. She rose up on her toes and we kissed, that gentle pressing of lips that I found so loving.

However, through dinner and into the evening, Sia deciding to sit glued to my side, I worried about her. This wasn't the exuberant daughter I knew. She was softer, different.

Caressing her shoulder, while some TV show played an apocalyptic zombie war, I finally broached the subject; one that hadn't been mentioned.

"Are you okay, honey? Are you regretting what we did?"

SIA SMILED TO HERSELF. She loved making love with Dad and wanted to make love with him again. Every time she'd thought about it today it made her feel so good, more mature. She was Dad's lover!

She glanced up at him. "I loved it, Dad."

"You don't regret anything, do you?"

She drew his arm around her and caressed it. "Not one minute. I'd like to do it again but I'm a bit sore."

His expression softened, dark hazel eyes liquid.

"Sorry. I didn't think about that. Are you uncomfortable?" he asked.

She drew his hand up to cup her breast over her blouse. "No. It's just a sore feeling. It doesn't bother me."

Sia wondered if he knew how amazing it had been for her. It was so much more, so much better than she'd ever imagined. He'd been so gentle with her, too. It had hardly hurt, just a twinge of pain. But, Gawd, feeling Dad inside her was the best.

She'd felt Dad cum the first time and been so proud. But, the feeling of him filling her, the stretching sensation she'd experienced with his erection buried in her, and feeling so full was amazing. She was still giddy from feeling Dad's erection grow inside her. It had turned her on so much. But best, better than anything, was making love with him, to be held as if cherished, to hear him whisper her name at exactly the right moment, just as she was cumming. It had made her climax stronger, a full body one that washed through her like burning lava, curling her toes, stealing her breath and leaving her limp and warm and cuddled and adored. It had been perfect, everything she'd dreamed of.

She sighed with contentment and studied Dad's face. "I feel different now," she told him. "It's like, I dunno, like I'm so happy. It's exactly what I wanted, Dad, exactly."

"So, why the shy smiles and why so subdued?" he asked.

After some thought, Sia answered. "It's like I don't know how to behave around you now that we're, you know, lovers." She felt her blush heating her face.

"Sia," Dad said, "I don't want to lose my sweet girl. I don't want to lose the feisty, smart, witty daughter I love so much. Nothing's changed between us. I'm still your father. You're still my thirteen-year-old daughter. But there's another layer to our relationship now, an added intimacy that, if you're being honest about how you feel, should bring us closer."

"So I should behave as if nothing's changed?" Sia asked.

"Exactly . . . Well not exactly. I'd still like some sexy play with you. Are you sure you're sore?'

Sia laughed. "Yes. I'm sure." She giggled when Dad tickled her side.

I BREATHED A SIGH OF relief when Sia giggled. I liked her soft, loving demeanor but much, much preferred her vivacious personality. With a grin, I groped her boob.

"Hey!"

"Did I fail to mention your boobs are now my property to do with as I wish?"

"Daaaad! They're mine. You have no ownership of them at all. You just get to rent them out on occasion!"

I laughed. Sia was back in fine form.

A few moments of comfortable silence ensued.

"Dad, did you have recreational sex with Mom?"

Interesting. I decided to go with the flow. "Yes. Frequently before you were born, less so after."

"What's the difference between recreational sex and making love?"

I gave it some thought. A crass answer wouldn't do.

"Recreational sex is sex for the fun of it. It's when both partners want sexual relief. Unlike making love, it's often faster because both partners are already aroused. And the sex is often more vigorous, with more varied positions. Sometimes it includes fetishes, too."

"Like what?"

"Well, everyone has sexual quirks - paraphilias. Some love exhibitionism, some love sex with the chance of getting caught, some want the partner to wear specific clothes, role play. Stuff like that."

Sia eyed me, thoughts flitting through her enchanting eyes. Suddenly, she looked full of mischief. "So, Dad, what are your quirks?"

Beginning to feel just a little uncomfortable with the drift of the conversation, I reluctantly admitted, "Panties."

My daughter's eyes opened wide in surprise. "You like wearing panties?" she asked incredulously.

I laughed. "No! Don't be ridiculous. I like panties being worn by my partner. I think it's the sexiest thing ever."

She grinned at me. "Have you ever worn panties?"

"No."

"Then how do you know you won't like it?" she asked quite logically. "Girls get to wear boy-style undies. You know, Y-fronts?"

Now very uncomfortable, I deflected the conversation. "What are your kinks?" I asked, amused by the beautiful blush that emerged highlighting her pale freckles.

"I dunno," she said.

"You must have some."

"Um. Well, I haven't really had experience with any."

"Sia, honey, quirks are those things that, when you imagine them, they turn you on. Experience isn't necessary."

Her blush intensified. "I, um, well . . . like . . . uh." Her eyed darted away. This was interesting. She took a deep breath and continued. "I get horny thinking about feeling you get an erection. I don't know why," she added quickly.

"You almost never understand quirks," I reassured her with a smile.

"Um, I sometimes imagine having sex in different places."

"You mean in public?"

"Gawd no, Dad! Not like that. I mean, like, maybe when we watch TV, or in the shower together - we should do that, or even in the kitchen." Warming up to her confession, she continued, "And even in the truck. It's like in my mind I turn you on so much you can't wait for us to go to bed. And then, when it happens we're doing something else at the same time. Is that a quirk? Is it weird?" she asked.

Grinning at my adolescent daughter's imagination, I answered, "Nope. If both partners are having fun and love each other nothing's weird."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"Uh-huh."

"So, if I, like, wanted to reach inside your pants and play with you and make you, like, cum, it wouldn't be weird?"

Damn. Now I had an erection. "It might be messy but I think I might just enjoy that as long as I could reciprocate."

"You mean you do the same to me?"

"Yup."

"Kay. Hey, wanna try? Tonight? Huh? What are your thoughts?"

I had to laugh. I adored her playful side. It was so Sia, and the fact she was back to having fun with the intimacy between us reassured me she regretted nothing. Marvelous. But I thought a night's rest, given her soreness, might be better.

"We can try it this weekend. Tonight I just want to cuddle with my girl."

Sia sighed. "Kay. That sounds nice, too."

Chapter Thirteen

On Wednesday evening, I ran into Alia in the supermarket. Smiling, I greeted her, stopping in the aisle to chat.

"Philip," she said with a smile, "What did you do to my daughter?"

"Me? Nothing. Why?" I asked. Had I done something?

"It seems she has a bit of a crush on you."

"A crush? On me? Why? I didn't do anything except keep her and Sia entertained."

"I doubt it's anything you did. But, it is quite remarkable."

"How so?" I asked.

Alia smiled slightly. "It's too long a story to go into in the middle of Safeway."

"I see. Well, if you ever feel like talking about her, I'm more than happy."

We chatted for a couple of minutes, discussing the odd palates of young girls, Alia laughing at Sia's newly discerning sense of smell, and said goodbye. But, as I moved away, she called to me.

"Philip? Would you like to grab dinner together and chat?" She looked pensive.

"I'd love to. When?"

"How about Friday night?"

"Done."

Shopping was a tad mindless. I wondered what her and Jasmin's story was. I didn't feel guilty about having dinner with her. She was perfectly charming. I didn't need romance. I had Sia in my life and she took all my energy. Still, I missed adult conversation; that probing of minds, growing comfort, and the discovery of interesting trivia about each other's lives. She was raising a daughter. I was too, if somewhat unconventionally. I wanted to trade war stories.

Sia, when told about my plans that night, didn't seem upset. I wondered why until she exclaimed, "I'll have Jasmin come for a sleepover! Yes? What are your thoughts?"

Two teenage girls alone in the house? It sounded ominous. "Okay, as long as her mother agrees."

"Great! Gotta call her!" Sia announced, dashing out of the kitchen.

"And you do the dishes for a week!" I yelled after her. I smiled when there was no response.

Thus, at seven-fifteen on Friday night, I welcomed Jasmin, or tried to. Sia shoved by me. There was a repeat of the strange hugging dance they'd done before, and Jasmin said, "Hi, Philip," giving me a brief hug as she passed, causing her mother to raise an eyebrow.

It wasn't until Alia and I entered Chez Etienne, the best restaurant in town, and Alia removed her coat that I saw another side to her. The serious but fashionable business suit was replaced by a simple dark raspberry deep v-neck dress that flared from her waist ending mid-thigh. It revealed long slender legs and black stiletto-heeled shoes giving her a taller, dignified stature. She'd worn earrings made of shards of silver that dangled and swung as she moved. Alia was a seriously attractive woman.

Over hors d'oeuvres of deep fried calamari with a spicy Sriracha cream dipping sauce, we chatted about work, the town; inconsequential things that helped break the ice, allowing us to gracefully draw closer to more personal topics: she liked football and music; I liked basketball and music; she liked to dance; I couldn't find my feet. Conversation flowed easily.

The main course arrived, a shared Beef Wellington - succulent beef tenderloin wrapped in pastry and baked to perfect pink. The conversation turned to family.

Like me, Alia was single. Like me, her partner was no longer around. Like me, she was constantly challenged by her newly minted teenager.

Alia laughed when I explained the secret to those mystical teens, "Lay down the law - don't stab anyone, no playing with matches, and stop kicking boys in their nuts."

Eventually, the conversation arrived at her purpose for the dinner; Jasmin.

She sipped some white wine I'd selected, an Alois Lageder Pinot Grigio, pale and bright with hints of lime, then spoke.

"So as I asked you at the supermarket, what did you do to my daughter?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"She hugged you goodbye."

"Is that unusual?" I asked.

"You have no concept." Alia took another sip of wine before cutting a small piece of the Beef Wellington and eating it. She looked back up at me and continued. "Perhaps I should back up. Jasmin and I have been on our own for six years. Jerry, my husband, was . . . well he was a bully, verbally and physically abusive to both of us."

She sipped her wine, her fork pushing mushroom caps around the plate.

"I know it's cliché but I took the abuse. I had a job, a career I was working at, a beautiful daughter, a home. Without them, I had nothing. It was a classical case of me thinking if I could only cook better, dress better, earn more money, be more compliant, Jerry would stop. He'd actually love us, be the loving father Jasmin deserved. I'd loved him once, so maybe I could change him."

She laughed bitterly and sipped her wine.

"Classic denial coupled with fear of the unknown. Add being terrified he was capable of killing us to the mix and, well . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "But he's no longer in the picture. It must be a relief."

She gave me a weak smile. "I'm not finished. He started sexually abusing Jasmin when she turned seven. I caught him, grabbed Jasmin and called the police."

I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the direction of her story. "So, he's in jail?"

"He's dead. He was killed in prison nine months after being incarcerated."

Silence fell as we ate. I couldn't imagine abusing a child. What drove her husband to it? It made me worry about Sia and me all over again. Was I him? Was I a Jerry with a different name?

"Jerry scarred Jasmin," Alia continued, putting her fork down. "Jasmin became fearful and untrusting of men and it spread to include older boys. She was only comfortable being around younger boys - infants really. She never recovered. She still avoids being around males."

Alia paused to let the waiter replenish our wine, and took a sip before continuing.

"So, that brings me back to, what did you do to Jasmin last week?"

I wracked my brains. "Nothing, as far as I can tell."

"Tell me about her stay," Alia suggested.

"Let me see." I cast my mind back. "Friday night they stayed up late and slept in the living room, binge watching The Walking Dead with the lights out. I wouldn't recommend it," I added with a grin. "They screamed well into the night.

"Saturday morning, after feeding them, I ordered them to straighten up the mess in the living room. They ignored me, as usual, so I resorted to bribes - fast food and a movie at the mall."

Alia laughed.

"Works every time," I assured her. "Threats, not so much. At least not with Sia.

"Anywho," I continued, "Saturday afternoon they interrupted me while I was sprawled on the couch listening to Clannad on the stereo . . ."

"Who's Clannad?" Alia interrupted.

"Funny you should ask. It's the exact question my daughter asked when the two holy terrors came into the living room."

Alia smiled. "So who is Clannad?"

"They're a modern Irish band with a rather haunting sound. Bono recorded with them." At her look of puzzlement, I added, "Did you ever see Patriot Games with Harrison Ford?"

She nodded.

"There's a scene at the beginning where one of the bad guys is walking through a field at night towards an isolated farm house. The music used in the scene is Clannad's."

"I don't remember it."

"No matter. Where was I? Oh yes. My highly considerate daughter decided I didn't like Clannad and chose something else. I have no idea what the song was, but they turned it up so loud it made my ears crackle.

"Have you ever worried about your child going deaf?" I asked. "I can picture it. They make fun of us but, by the time they're our age, they'll be wearing hearing aids in both ears. We'll see who has the last laugh!"

Alia laughed brightly. "So what happened?"

"Well, Sia started dancing. It involved hip thrusting, butt shaking and squats. It looked like something I'd expect to see in a dark and dingy night club. You know, the ones with a stage, poles and an exclusive male audience? Let me tell you, this twerking thing is shocking.

"No doubt, Sia thought I'd understand it better if I tried to twerk. So I tried. Have you ever seen two teenage girls writhing on the floor holding themselves and crying with laughter?"

"They didn't!" Alia said with a grin.

"They did! Jasmin and Sia kept trying to make my hips thrust. I tried but all I got was giggles. I gave up, sat down and watched them twerk away."

With a grin, I told her, "They were really cute, too. When the song ended, I gave them both a big hug. Then I fed them in the food court and took them to a movie.

"So you see? I really didn't do anything to Jasmin."

"Oh no. You did quite a lot," Alia said with a laugh. "No wonder my daughter has quite the crush on you."

"Why would she? I didn't do anything but make them laugh?"

ALIA SMILED. SHE'D BEEN watching as Philip recounted the sleepover. The amusement in his eyes was obvious. She studied him. He wasn't the most handsome man she'd ever met, but his dark hazel eyes were lively and intelligent. She liked the smile crinkles at the corners. Obviously, he laughed a lot. And the way one corner of his mouth would tick up in a wry grin was charming. But, it was the gentleness that oozed from his pores that made him very attractive; that and his sense of humor.

It was easy to see why Jasmin had responded to him. He was comforting, unthreatening, very approachable, and an attentive listener. She found herself enjoying being with him more and more. He was good for Jasmin.

Reaching across the table, she rested her hand on the back of his. "Do me a favor. If Jasmin flirts with you, don't discourage her."

"If Jasmin what?" he asked, shocked.

Alia smiled softly. "She's a teen girl. This is the first time in six years she's shown any interest in a male, any male, without being wary. I don't want her hurt. Just play along, if she does. Please?"

He studied her, his expression serious. "I'm not a very good person, Alia. I'm not sure it's appropriate. If Jasmin accidentally said something in public I would be in real trouble, regardless of any truth."

"Jasmin holds secrets exceptionally well. Trust me. She refuses to gossip. Please? Just for a short while until she can trust again?"

The relief she felt when Philip nodded caught her off guard. She hadn't recognized how important it was for her to see Jasmin get excited, have feelings for the opposite sex, no matter what age. She knew hormones were raging through her daughter. She remembered having crushes herself. For her daughter never to enjoy those feelings was bleak. A harmless crush on Philip couldn't hurt. Despite his denial, he was ideal; kind, considerate, and mature enough to gently deflect any serious flirtations without hurting Jasmin's feelings. Once the crush was over, Jasmin might finally be open to other boys.

"Thank you, Philip," she said. "So tell me more about this twerking thing."

IT WAS TEN-THIRTY WHEN Alia and I approached the front door. Loud music filtered out to us. The volume increased when I opened the door and escorted Alia in. Laughter burst out, two girls clearly having fun.

With trepidation, I approached the living room.

Alia gasped. "Jasmin!"

Jasmin, her skin glossy and dark, was sitting on the back of the couch, feet on the seat cushion. Sia sat the same way on our armchair. Each girl had a jumbo bag of orange Cheetos in hand. In the center of the living room, a wire wastepaper basket was sitting in a sea of orange Cheetos, two or three actually in the basket. The place looked like a tornado had passed; leftover dinner plates on the floor by the couch, empty cans of Coke, cutlery, crumpled up napkins.

At Alia's sharp word, Sia and Jasmin glanced at us. Sia grinned; a typical reaction to mischief she'd had since infancy. She spoke loudly, "You're home early. Did you know the lightness and shape of Cheetos make them aerodynamically unsuitable for flight? It's all about density."

"That's what it said on the Internet. It makes it impossible to land a Cheeto in a basket at ten feet," Jasmin added. "Watch." She tossed an orange Cheeto. It missed by a mile.

Sia held out the bag. "Here. You try, Dad."

Alia and I looked at each other. Her anger dissipated when I grinned. "Tell me you're not intrigued," I challenge her. "Bet I can land more than you."

She laughed. "Give me that bag, Jasmin. And turn this God awful music down."

I won. Alia was laughing too hard to throw properly as I tried to explain how, in order to achieve success, rotation was critical to making air flow smoothly around an irregular object, demonstrating by tossing another orange Cheeto in.

It was well after midnight by the time we cleaned the mess - Alia helping and ordering Jasmin to contribute - and saw them both out the front door.

Sia's sugar high passed and she hit bottom, exhaustion. In bed, she moved close.

"Mrs. Sanderson told me something about Jasmin. It wasn't pleasant," I mentioned.

"I know. Jasmin told me. Remember when I told you I understand why you wanted to wait until I was, like, eighteen, but that I didn't agree?" She glanced up at me, her head in the crook of my shoulder. "That's how I understood."

She studied me and, proving she knew me too well, said, "I'm not seven years old, Dad. It's not the same."

Chapter Fourteen

Life settled. I grew used to the rhythms of my daughter's sexual desires. Work and school kept us busy during the week and an increasingly hectic agenda kept us busy on the weekends, as the promise of spring was announced with milder temperatures.

Sia had a zany side that amused me no end. She flourished, finding ever more confidence from her ability to arouse me and with that confidence, she started to correct my unfortunate lifestyle. My health, even though I was robustly healthy, could no longer benefit from a nightly drink, "You might become an alcoholic," she'd advised. Junk food was restricted after she read on some unaccredited Internet source that, "Older men that eat junk food are 75% more likely to get a heart attack, Dad." I wondered at her source of information.

Then she decided I'd feel better if I exercised, "So you don't get fat." When I pointed out I wasn't fat, she replied, "See? If you start now you won't have to worry."

Knowing how averse Sia was to most physical exertion, I told her we'd go skiing together. The concept excited her until we arrived at the cross-country ski course.

"Where are the hills?" she asked, looking around the deep forest with ski tracks weaving through it.

Sia did not take to cross-country skiing. She moaned and bitched the whole time. But there were some wonderful benefits. First, she stopped bugging me about working out, aware that I'd drag her to whatever she forced me to do. The other benefit was amazing.

That night, as Sia complained and bemoaned her fate, "My whole body hurts, Dad!", I had her roll onto her front on the bed while I went to the bathroom to fetch some massage oil. Up to now, our lovemaking had been quite simple. Either she was on top of me or the positions were reversed. Oral sex was used mostly as part of the pre-intercourse ritual. Each orgasm with her still stunned me in its intensity and she treated me to a wide range of climaxes herself. But, that night . . .

I paused at the bathroom door, studied my thirteen-year-old, and fatherly concern for her aches and pains flew out the window.

I knew my daughter had a great ass, but, Jesus! Naked, her face was turned away from me, her thick dark wavy hair spread over her shoulders. Her slender bare back swept down to two of the sexiest buttocks I'd ever set eyes on; twin pear-shaped globes that rose forming a butt crack that cried out to me. Her ass cheeks flowed into her thighs and, in the gold yellow light cast by the bedside lamp, a very seductive shadow filled the gap at her crotch. An erection formed. I had a naked nymphet in my bed and she was mine!

It took less than half a minute for me to strip, my cock waving at half-mast, and thoughts turn lascivious. I worshiped asses on women and Sia's was worthy of adulation and prayer, a work of art.

Moving to the bed, I knelt at her side, mindlessly poured some vanilla scented oil on my palms, and took one leg, my erection nodding its approval.

Sia moaned as I massaged her calf with slow deep thumb pressure, followed by full palm strokes. I moaned, too, as her spectacular pussy, still almost hairless, filled her crotch; plump and forbidden and erotic, her butt crack seamlessly merging with her cleft. I moved to her other leg and worked on her calf, my eyes locked to the sight of her rounded labia oozing apart to reveal her clitoral hood and a sexy glisten of moisture inside.

Now very, very distracted, I closed her legs and straddled her calves, moving my hands to one firm thigh, thumbs digging deep to relax her before caressing, stroking, admiring.

"Gawd that's good," she murmured.

"No kidding," I said in agreement.

With a hand on each thigh, my thumbs massaged up the insides to the point where they met her gorgeous buttocks, that sexy horizontal crease. And, as I eased my palms out and squeezed up the sides of her ass, Sia's but crack spread revealing a tightly closed rosebud. Her cleft flowered open, moisture, a small clit, small still maturing inner labia, and, oh God, the very tiny entrance to her vagina.

Precum leaked, erection drooling and nodding furiously with approval.

Sia's buttocks were firm, silky, and cool to the touch. They yielded sensually, bulging seductively to the pressure of my massage, her rosebud winking as it appeared and disappeared with each circular massage.

Finally, I placed my thumbs along the crease of each buttock at her thighs, slipped my thumbs down to nestle to each side of her amazing pussy, and massaged her, gently squeezing her thick labia together, sliding the tip of my thumbs up and down.

Sia moaned, clenched her buttocks, and rocked her ass from side to side. My cock strained. Slipping my hands up, the scent of vanilla now joined by a hint of Sia's arousal, sweet yet musky, I massaged her butt cheeks and slid my oily hands up to her narrow waist and over two little dimples, one above each buttock close to her spine.

Leaning over her, my erection nudged into her crotch and touched the confluence of her butt crack and pussy in a soft intimate kiss. I pulled her dark hair aside exposing her neck and kissed her shoulder.

Sia murmured. With closed eyes, she smiled slightly. "This feels really good."

Thoughts of her massage, her sore muscles, were displaced by other, more sexy thoughts, erection-straining thoughts.

"There's another type of massage that will relax you," I murmured into her ear before kissing her neck.

Silent giggles shook her body. "You mean this?" she asked, squeezing her buttocks and thighs, trapping the tip of my erection pressed to her cleft. I pulsed. Slippery precum leaked.

"It'll relax you. I promise," I whispered.

She giggled quietly. "You just wanna use me to relax yourself."

With a kiss on her neck, inhaling her beautiful, youthful scent, I said, "True. I want you, honey. Really want you."

Sia sighed softly. "Kay." She squeezed her buttocks again.

Sia's cleft was slippery with precum. The tip of my erection slid easily along it, and between her thighs. A deep sigh hit me when my stomach settled against her glorious buttocks. I lay on her, pressing her to the bed. She was so perfect under me, slender, excitingly petite, young and desirable.

As I kissed her cheek gently, her eyes still closed, I eased back, my erection slipping up her pussy, slippery. Pressing down, my cock slipped along her cleft. I pulled back, shuffled slightly, and pressed. God, the sensation of pressing against her cleft was wonderful, her buttocks against me, her body so slender. Pressing harder, Sia tilted her bum up, soft labia yielding to kiss my crown in a moist embrace. Shuddering at the sensation of slowly penetrating Sia from behind, one of my favorite positions, my cock flexed, straining, and rigid as I backed off minutely. I pressed again and Jesus, in that most exquisite moment I loved so much, the tip of my erection oozed into her, hot, velvety, and tighter than ever. It took my breath away. I had to pause. It was the perfect moment; on the cusp of paradise, the prospect of penetrating Sia fully, being buried in my daughter.

Easing one hand under her, I cupped her small breast. I kissed her cheek and whispered, "I love this, right here, almost in you."

"Me, too," Sia whispered, giving my erection a loving clench that almost expelled me.

I needed to see. Lifting my body, I glanced down. Jeeeezus! Sia's compact butt made my adult erection look thicker. The shaft was framed by her sweet buttocks, her legs together. I looked huge compared to her and, Lordy, did it thrill me.

Settling back on her, I nuzzled her neck. "You smell good," I whispered and started rocking on her buttocks in tiny movements. Her pussy slowly, so slowly, accepted more, embracing my erection in silken warmth. How could she take me? How could such a tight pussy handle me without hurting?

With a curl of my hips, I was buried in her. Sia sighed again as if she'd waited for this. Her gorgeous bottom pressed against me. Reaching down, I slid my free hand under her hip and down, finding and cupping her pussy. With the utmost gentleness, I caressed her clit.

Sia groaned and clenched her pussy. She started moving her ass, just slightly, but the effect! Jesus Mary and Joseph! Her vagina massaged my erection, snug, beautiful. With a tickle of her clit, Sia's butt moved again, pressing up and back at me.

I couldn't wait any longer, my desire too strong. Withdrawing from her, her pussy tried to hold me in. Sia groaned just as I stroked back in.

"Gawd, Daddy," she moaned.

Selfish desire took control. I fucked Sia in long, slow, full strokes, my erection almost out, sliding deep, out, deep again, so tight. Sia responded curling her ass back at me as I thrust in. She clutched the bed sheet with both hands, breathing harder. I fucked my daughter harder, thrusting into her, her buttocks now slapping into my groin. My cock swelled. It felt huge, stiff, thick. Then things became disorienting.

Sia grunted, "Harder, Daddy," and I fell.

Rising off her, both hands supporting me, I stared down at her slender body, fucking Sia harder, her buttocks shaking with each thrust. Her body moved, shoved up the bed in time with my strokes. I glanced down and groaned aloud at the sight of my erection almost pounding into her from behind, her gorgeous ass shaking with the slap of my groin.

I lost awareness of her. Fucking Sia absorbed me, pleasure flooding me with every thrust into her tight pussy. I chased my orgasm, pressure building, heaviness in my balls, fucking Sia, fucking Sia. Aching arrived, need for release, need to cum. It built even higher, and just when it became painful, my orgasm arrived.

Thrusting into my little girl hard, I came, a storm of pleasure slamming into me as my cock swelled, semen raced up and, God almighty, I exploded inside her, cum spurting, bliss. Collapsing onto her, I fucked her, thrusting, swelling, straining, spurting, semen filling my girl, ecstasy pounding me robbing me of breath. I fucked Sia hard, cock pulsing, semen spurting, stomach cramping. My toes curled and still I thrust, almost desperate, cumming into her, cumming. With a final shuddering thrust, burying myself deep, cock pulsing weakly, my orgasm released me.

Perspiration coated my back, cooling me. My heart raced, breath panting. Awareness of Sia's body under me returned, now feeling even smaller, almost delicate. She shook lightly. I recognized the remnants of her climax; soft, almost loving clenches of her pussy. Her fists gripping the bed sheet relaxed.

Studying her face, I saw her at peace, so young and sweet just like she looked when she slept; innocent, intensely beautiful. My heart swelled. My lover.

Chapter Fifteen

Dusk was setting as I arrived home on Friday; daylight lasting longer, proof spring was nearing, renewal, nature waking from a long slumber. My Ford F1 pickup, the Old Sod, complained, its engine coughing and shuddering before shutting down, ominous dark smoke billowing from the tailpipe. It was as if turning the car key was only a suggestion to the contumacious truck to turn off, a suggestion it chose to ignore just to spite me. The door creaked as I slammed it shut. One of these days it was going to fall off.

Snow was in retreat. Walkway and drive were clear and dry. Bushes were emerging from their white shroud. The air was definitely warmer, now nicely crisp.

Laughter greeted me upon opening the door. I now recognized the source. Jasmin was visiting. Since the sleepover almost two months ago, Sia and Jasmin spent more and more time together - mostly after school until Alia came to pick her up - and weekends during the day, patrolling the small local mall for the emergence of any new fashions.

I had no complaints. Despite my wariness at Jasmin's supposed crush, she was charming and polite. While relaxed around me, I had the sense she was keeping something back. Her beautiful, exotic eyes were exceptionally observant.

Those two girls could get into one of their moods and confound me, confuse me, and somehow get me to agree to things I didn't really want to do. I'd actually taken them swimming at the school pool in the middle of a freezing winter, the temperature so cold my nuts had retreated into my groin. They'd manipulated me, asking what I thought of Thai food. I admitted to not liking it.

Sia had immediately asked, "So what do you prefer?"

"Subway subs are much better."

"Great suggestion, Dad! I'll have an assorted!"

Jasmin had kicked in with, "We're hungry! Can I have a BLT with extra mayo?"

Somehow, I'd been hoodwinked into getting subs for them. How had that happened? I wasn't in the least surprised when Sia had sniffed her sub, frowned, opened it, and carefully extracted every piece of ham, commenting, "When did they change their assorted sub?"

After hanging up my parka, in the living room I came upon two teen girls sitting side by side on the couch, television playing a muted (thank goodness) music video, and both girls studying their individual iPhones. Jasmin, in delight, exclaimed, "See that? Did you see?

Sia nodded. "Yeah. How did they train the swans to feed those Koi fish?"

I didn't bother trying to figure them out. It looked like they were watching the same video on both iPhones! Why couldn't they share?

Sia glanced up at me. "Dad! You're home!" She jumped up and gave me a tight hug. With excited, mismatched eyes, she informed me, "Jasmin's sleeping over."

"It might have been nice to ask first," I said.

"I did."

"I don't remember having that conversation. Hi, Jasmin," I added, smiling at her.

"Hi, Mr. Hicks!" She'd reverted to my surname after a stern admonishment from her mother.

Sia said, "I did ask. Mrs. Sanderson said it was okay."

With a sigh of frustration, I clarified. "I meant ask me."

Sia leaned back from the hug and studied my face. "You always say yes. Why would I ask you?"

"Because . . . maybe I'd say no?"

"You mean Jasmin can't stay?"

"Of course she can stay."

With a grin, my daughter let me go and returned to the couch. "See? You always say yes."

Shaking my head, I went to change, idly wondering if Alia could explain young girls' seemingly innate ability to confound and manipulate. While changing, I decided to get some of my own back at the girls.

Neither of them appreciated my artistic presentation. They seemed to miss how two cooked beetroots formed the eyes, a baked potato the nose, and two sweet Italian sausages the wide mouth of a smiley face, with gravy as the goatee. Their only concern was with the two deep purple beetroots and how to get them as far away from the rest of the meal as fast as possible. I casually mentioned there'd be no television or iPhones unless they ate the beetroot.

They didn't even bother to acknowledge my threat. Cute.

On the bright side, about seven-thirty, as Sia and Jasmin hogged the couch, sprawled at each end and furiously texting each other - the three-foot chasm between them clearly needing the assistance of technology to communicate, the front door bell rang. Alia greeted me with a wide smile and a bottle of red wine.

"I thought you might like some intelligent conversation," she said.

"You have no idea." Ushering her in, I checked the label on the wine. It was a very nice Cabernet from California. "I have some questions about manipulation and young girls. Perhaps you can help me."

Alia laughed brightly, shrugged her long light brown cashmere coat off and handed it to me, revealing a long matching cashmere sweater and calf-length skirt, a simple gold necklace her only jewelry; a very elegant outfit. Her exotic ebony skin glowed with health.

"Have they been confusing you? There's only one defense; ignore them," she suggested.

"That's pretty hard to do." Leading her into the warm kitchen, I fetched wine glasses from a cabinet and a corkscrew from a drawer while she settled at the old oak table.

She rubbed her hand over the surface feeling it's worn, waxed texture. "This is a nice table. How old is it?"

"Soraya and I acquired it just before Sia was born, so fourteen years," I said, uncorking the wine with a slight pop and pouring a ruby red wine into the glasses.

Alia laughed. "I meant, when was it made?"

"Oh. Mid-eighteen hundreds, I think."

"It's beautiful." She sipped the wine and sighed with delight. "So, has my daughter been behaving?"

I gave it some thought. Over the last eight weeks, Jasmin had been a frequent visitor. Slightly reserved compared to Sia, but exceptionally observant, she'd behaved perfectly . . . or as well as teenage girls could. "She's great. Actually, I think she must have recovered from her crush. I haven't seen anything untoward."

Alia smiled. "Oh no. If anything it's become stronger. When we talk, the only easy topic for her is you and Sia. You shouldn't flirt with her so much."

At my sharp glance, Alia laughed. "Just kidding." After a brief pause to taste the wine, Alia said casually, "You and Sia have a very unusual relationship."

Apprehension made my body tense. Did she know something? "What do you mean?"

"It's obvious Sia adores you. You two have a special relationship. As I said, very unusual."

Cautiously, I responded. "I don't know any other single father raising a teenage daughter, so I have no point of reference."

Peals of laughter echoed from the living room.

Alia smiled. She nodded towards the laughter. "That's what I'm talking about. Sia's such a well-adjusted girl. She's quite mature for her age. You must have a wonderful relationship with her for her to turn out so well."

Relieved, I grinned. "We have an understanding. Sia lets me decide everything, always asks what I'd like, and then does whatever the heck she wants. As long as it doesn't include murder, or grand theft auto, I thank my lucky stars."

"Thank you," Alia said with a soft smile.

"For what?"

"Jasmin's noticed. She's finally being exposed to a father-daughter relationship full of love. I think she wishes you were her father. It's good for her to be exposed to you two." Another sip of wine and Alia asked, "How did someone with a Masters in Chemical Engineering and Applied Chemistry end up in Lonsdale, Minnesota?"

"Have you been checking up on me?" I asked, grinning.

"With the way my daughter's enamored with you? You bet your boots, buster!" she answered with a smile.

Alia's smile was radiant. Her eyes were deep, dark and fascinating. Elegant, refined, she was exceptionally attractive. Why hadn't she remarried?

"Soraya and I made a decision early on. We decided quality of life was more important than success and wealth. As for why Longsdale? They needed a manager for their water treatment plant. So here I am."

"Do you ever regret it?" Alia asked, holding her empty wine glass out as I poured.

"Not for a minute. So, how did a financial planner become successful in a town with a population of less than five thousand inhabitants?"

Alia twirled the stem of her glass. "I've always had a knack for numbers. Some lucky advice made my clients very happy. The sophistication of the Internet let me broaden my client base, and voilà!"

We continued to chat, an easy and comfortable companionship, until Sia and Jasmin appeared in the kitchen doorway, interrupting us.

"You guys can have the living room. We're going to bed," Sia announced. She glanced at the half-empty bottle of wine. "Don't drink too much, Dad. It's not good for you."

Alia hid her smile with the wine glass. The girls turned and left. I wondered why they were going to bed so early. Checking my watch, I was surprised to see it was already ten fifteen.

Glancing back at the doorway, I commented, "I'm reminded of a phrase I read by the author, Craig Johnson. Do you know him?"

Alia shook her head.

"He wrote, "Rarely do you see the promise of a man in a boy, but you almost always see the threat of a woman in a girl - and sometimes the threat is not hollow." I think I understand him better every day."

Alia smiled. "Truer words couldn't be spoken. But, what was that about drinking? Do you drink a lot?"

"No. A beer after work, a scotch or two weekend evenings. No. Sia read on the Internet that 'Frequent drinkers become alcoholics'. Apparently she left out a couple of words; secret and may - 'Frequent secret drinkers may become alcoholics'."

With a laugh, Alia observed, "She loves you, so she cares."

We moved to the living room, our chat flowing easily. Eventually, the wine bottle was empty. I carried a pleasant buzz. Alia was completely charming. I missed adult conversation; thoughtful, educated, wry and funny. She was very easy company.

When I held the front door open for her and said goodbye, Alia smiled, rose onto her tiptoes, and kissed me softly. "I had a wonderful time. Thank you. And good luck with the girls."

JASMIN TURNED ONTO HER side, head propped up on one hand. She studied Sia as she used her iPhone on the double bed.

She loved Sia like a sister. She knew Sia would be her friend for life. They had so many things in common. She was envious, too. Sia's dad was so easy going, funny, and kind. He had a way of looking at her that made his eyes smile; just his eyes.

But, over the last few months, Jasmin had noticed things. At first confused, she'd observed carefully. She was sure. It was the way Sia hugged her father, pressing her cheek against his chest. It was seeing an inadvertent grope of his butt and the fierceness of her protectiveness. She wouldn't accept any criticism of him. None.

Then there were other signs: Sia sitting close to him when they all watched TV together; how her hand would rest on his leg, possessively, a slight caress; and the way she looked at him. Sia seemed to adore him. She even appeared to like the arguments she had with her father, as if it were a fun game.

Jasmin was a bit jealous. She wondered what it would be like to have a father that adored her as much Mr. Hicks adored Sia. What would it be like to cuddle to a father like that? To be loved, not abused? She wondered what it would feel like to be able to laugh so freely, have fun, and be teased, as Sia was; feel safe knowing she wouldn't be slapped, yelled at, hated.

She loved Mom. But there was this emptiness inside of her and she yearned to fill it. She yearned for what Sia had. And she knew there was more to their relationship; an intimacy. Jasmin felt envious. She wanted it, too.

"Sia, if I told you a secret that would ruin me if it ever got out, would you be honest with me?"

Sia grinned. Then, when looking at Jasmin, she put her iPhone down. Jasmin was serious!

Jasmin started, hesitant at first, talking about a relationship she had with her mother, their intimacy, how they'd cuddled in bed together to hide from Dad. She talked about how, even after Dad was taken away, her night terrors could only be held at bay by being in bed with Mom. Jasmin talked about how, as she grew up, intimacy had started, how Mom could make her feel so good, feel good about herself with such gentleness, a soft touch, an arousing caress. She told Sia her secret.

Sia listened, rapt. When Jasmin paused, Sia asked, "Does that mean you're, like, a lesbian?"

Jasmin shook her head. "I don't think so. If I was, I wouldn't like your Dad like I do."

"Wadda ya mean?" Sia asked.

"You're lucky." Jasmin paused and debated with herself. Would Sia get angry with her? Maybe. But, if they really were best friends, they shouldn't have secrets. She started telling Sia about what she'd observed, how she thought Sia and her dad had more than just a father-daughter relationship.

Sia fought the rising panic. How did Jasmin know? Everything was going to be ruined! Everything! Dad had warned her about being careful and somehow Jasmin knew!

Could she deny it?

"You're wrong," Sia said.

"No I'm not. I'm not stupid, Sia. But I promise, I'll never tell anyone."

"You've gotta promise! I don't want to lose Dad!"

Jasmin nodded. "What do you think would happen if people knew about Mom and me? I'd lose her, too."

Sia paused and thought about it. Jasmin was right. Now they both had secrets that could ruin each other's lives.

Looking at Jasmin, her pretty face, beautiful ebony skin, she tried to picture her with her mom. "What's it like to kiss your mom? Is it different from kissing a guy?"

Jasmin laughed. "How would I know? I've never kissed a guy."

"Oh. Right."

"You've kissed a guy," Jasmin said.

"So?"

"So, you could find out if it's different."

"How?" Sia's eyes opened wide as she grasped what Jasmin meant. "You mean you and me?"

"Uh-huh. If you want to, that is."

"Kay. Let's try."

They leaned in towards each other, grinning. Lips touched. Sia giggled. "It feels weird to kiss a girl. Let's try again."

She met Jasmin's lips with her own. Their lips pressed. Jasmin's hand tentatively settled on Sia's waist, their eyes still watching each other. For fun, Sia let the tip of her tongue touch Jasmin's lips. Jasmin's eyes smiled. She mimicked Sia, her tongue touching Sia's lips. Their tongues touched. The kiss broke suddenly.

"Wow. That was . . ." Sia said.

"Nice," Jasmin finished.

"Yeah."

"So, is it different?" Jasmin asked.

Sia nodded. "Different. Interesting. Sorta fun."

They grinned at each other, friends still, but now something more, exciting and new. Sia's head edged closer. Jasmin edged closer, both hesitant. Lips touched.

This time eyes closed, lips parted, tongues caressed. Sia's body responded, surprising her, her nipples tingling. Kissing Jasmin was different from kissing Dad, but exciting in a way.

She rested her hand on Jasmin's hip, matching Jasmin's hand on hers. It wasn't long before both hands slowly moved up, moving together, testing, Sia's arousal emerging.

Still kissing, they gently touched each other's breast over their pajamas. Sia felt a strange shock of delight. Jasmin shuddered slightly, the caress familiar but new, her nipples erecting.

When the kiss ended, when their faces parted, both hands remained cupping each other's breasts.

"Your boobs are bigger than mine," Sia observed quietly.

"Yours are really nice," Jasmin observed.

Without another word, they kissed again. Jasmin was the first to move, edging her body closer to Sia. Sia rolled to face Jasmin. Kissing slowly, tongues playing, their bodies came together. Legs intertwined, thighs pressing against each other's pussy. Jasmin was the first to move, a subtle press of her pussy against Sia. Sia responded. Their kiss deepened. Hips moved. Slowly they began humping against each other, their hand caressing each other's breasts. Arousal washed through them, breathing deeper, writhing together. Sia was amazed she was responding, her pussy slightly moist, aching pleasantly. Jasmin felt arousal wash through her, familiar but different, exciting. She writhed against Sia, her body responding. Wanting more stimulation, she moved her hand, reached down to rest on Sia's ass, pulling her closer, pressure against her pussy, pulses of pleasure becoming waves.

Sia responded, matching Jasmin's move, her hand cupping Jasmin's buttock. Their bodies pressed against each other, writhing, arousal intensifying, horny, a climax needed.

Sia came first, kiss breaking, body shuddering. Jasmin followed, gasping quietly, body hunching, scrubbing her pussy against Sia. Both girls climaxed, quiet moans breaking the silence, humping against each other, clutching each other, waves of pleasure washing over them.

Stillness arrived. Post-orgasmic peace arrived. Hearts slowed.

In the dark bedroom, the two girls whispered to each other, talked. Jasmin interrogated Sia about the difference with a guy. Sia was feeling guilty, an unaccustomed emotion. She'd really liked what they'd done, but somehow she felt as though she'd just been unfaithful to Dad and that bothered her.

They talked well into the night.

Chapter Sixteen

SIA SEEMED SUBDUED TO me on Saturday morning. Her good morning hug bordered on fierce. Even Jasmin acted strangely, hugging me in the morning and again before she rushed out to her mom waiting in their car.

I knew not to press Sia, so I didn't. Through morning shopping and lunch, she remained slightly distracted. By mid-afternoon as we watched TV together, she finally spoke; just not what I was expecting - typical of her.

Sitting at the opposite end of the couch, her legs curled to the side and not touching me, her attention on her iPhone, finger scrolling and tapping, she asked, "Were you ever unfaithful to Mom?"

"No."

"We're you ever tempted?"

"No."

"According to Buss & Shackelford, thirty to sixty percent of married people are unfaithful," Sia informed me.

"I'm not surprised, given the rate of divorce is close to fifty percent," I commented.

"Why are people unfaithful?" Sia asked, still not looking at me.

"There are a lot of reasons, honey. It might be they never should have been married in the first place. Many get bored with their partners. They don't find the excitement they used to have. It boils down to them not getting something out of the sexual relationship that they want."

"Like what?"

"It could be one partner's not adventurous enough for the other. Or, perhaps, one partner loses interest in sex. Maybe one partner suffered a trauma that affected their love life. Maybe one partner has sexual needs that the other won't cater to. As I said, it's often the result of not finding fulfillment at home."

Sia was quiet for a few moments. "So you and Mom must have had a good sex life."

"We did." Where was she going with this?

"What if you met someone now? Would you want to?"

"Nope. You're more than enough for me."

"Kay." After a short pause she added, "I don't think I'd like you to be with someone else." Another pause. "Unless I liked them. If I liked them then it would be okay."

Studying her, I clarified something. "You know I'd never stop you if you found someone, honey. It's your body. No one else's. You can't go through life having only experienced sex with one person and I don't expect you to. It won't change how we are together or how much I love you."

Sia pondered it. "Okay. The same for you." She thought about it and added, "But I still have to like them first."

It seemed whatever was bothering her was gone. A sly grin emerged on her pretty face. "Did you and Mom ever do anything kinky?"

I smiled. "Define kinky."

"Hold on." Her finger was a blur on the iPhone. "Like BDSM, or necrophilia, Oh yuk! That's like sex with dead bodies! How about exhibitionism? Or troilism? And look at this! Jeez, Dad, do people really like sex with statues?"

"What are you reading?"

"A list of philias. Check this out. Autoerotic asphyxiation. People actually strangle themselves during sex!"

Some more finger flicks ensued. "Huh. So, because we had sex, yours is pedophilia, according to Wikipedia."

"No. Pedophilia is the love of prepubescent children. You're not prepubescent."

"Wait. Here it is. Hebephilia. Pubescent and adolescent children."

"Not that either," I said with a smile.

Sia finally looked at me. "But it says it here; attraction to young post-pubescent children."

"Sia, I'm not attracted to pre or post-pubescent children at all. I've never looked at them and desired them. I'm attracted to you. Just you."

"Kay," she said with a satisfied smile. "That makes sense." In a brighter voice she continued, "So tell me your and Mom's kinks. No. Wait. I know yours. It's panty-philia, isn't it?" Her mismatched eyes twinkled as she grinned.

"You've got me."

"What type of panties?"

"All types."

"But what are your favorites? Which ones did Mom have that really got ya going?"

I laughed. "Your mother had all sorts. But the ones she knew would get to me every time were her vintage fifties-style panties. They were like gossamer, see-through, and she always wore them with a garter and stockings."

A vivid memory of Soraya at the kitchen sink in a mid calf length skirt came to mind. The eroticism of sliding her dress up to reveal white stockings held up by a white lacy garter, and full-cut gossamer panties, her ass crack visible through them, still aroused me.

Sia's feet kicked at me. "Dad! Did you heard me?"

"Hear what?"

"I said I have a 'doing something-philia'."

"What the heck is that?"

She grinned. "Lemme show you."

When she left the living room, I expected her to come back with show and tell; her iPhone clutched in her hand. Nope. Sia returned, now dressed in a nightshirt, white with a yellow and blue daisy print.

She smiled at me, her strange but beautiful eyes twinkling. Standing in front of me, she reached under her nightshirt and peeled her panties down and off.

"Here," she offered, soft plain white panties dangling from her fingers.

I took them, suddenly turned on. They were thin cotton; but, glancing at them, I noticed a clear damp spot in the gusset. Jeezus.

"I'm horny," Sia announced, moving to straddle my lap.

Jesus Christ! Did she know how sexy it was to hear her say that? My heart thumped. An erection formed tight in my jeans. I reached for her. She brushed my hands away.

"Nuh-uh." Grinning, her hand dropped between us to press against the bulge of my constrained erection. "You're horny, Dad. How come?" she asked, fondling me.

Jesus, I was. My cock throbbed as it tried to straighten.

Sia glanced down. Her fingers fiddled with the button on my jeans. It popped open. The zip was lowered. "I like this part," she said, her hand worming inside. My jeans were tight. She concentrated, biting the corner of her lower lip, her hand searching.

A wave of horniness hit me when her hand successfully wrapped around my shaft.

"Got it," she muttered, so damned cute. When I tried to grope her lovely little boobs, she pushed my hands away. "Nuh-uh. Not yet."

Her face frowned in concentration, hand tugging my cock trying to straighten it. A stab of pain made me inhale sharply.

Mismatched eyes glanced at me. "Sorry," she said, grinning. "You're too big inside the jeans. That or the jeans are too tight. Hold on."

Dismounting, she grabbed the waist. "Lift," she instructed, then wrestled the jeans and boxers to my knees, my cock slapping up against my stomach. "Much better," she murmured, grabbing my shaft and giving it a disorienting squeeze.

I waited for her to climb aboard. Typically, Sia didn't do the expected. She reached for my ankles and yanked the jeans off, tugged my boxers off, grinned at me and, staring into my eyes, settled to the floor on her knees between my legs. Eyes still locked to mine, she took my erection and kissed the moist tip. The ghost of a smile played across her lips before she opened her mouth and took my cock in, warmth and moisture enveloped my crown. A soft tongue caressed. My cock surged. Fuck, it was erotic!

Sia slowly took more into her mouth, filling her. She sucked and slowly pulled off with a soft pop, her hand holding the shaft. She studied my erection. "Now you're reeeaaaally horny," she announced with satisfaction.

"No kidding!"

She grinned, pure impishness in her eyes. Rising, she grabbed the TV remote, surfed the channels, found Notting Hill, and said, "Don't move now."

Turning to face the television, she backed up, slowly lifting her nightshirt to expose her exquisite naked bottom, two gorgeous buttocks, compact and sexy.

Reaching behind, she forced my knees together, shuffled back, and reached between her legs to grasp my cock, lifting it up off my stomach. Aiming it, she lowered herself. The tip kissed her pussy sending another wave of arousal through me.

I stared, my world focused on the sight of an adult erection aimed between her small buttocks. She ran the tip up and down her cleft, slowly lowering, labia bulging then yielding, spreading to hug my crown. My cock strained. Christ I was hard.

With a slow adjustment, Sia lodged the tip at her entrance and pressed down, eased up, and pressed down again. The feeling was unbelievable. Her entrance dilated. I felt her vagina stretch ever so slowly to envelop my crown in a tight, moist, velvety grip, my erection straining at the sensation of slow penetration.

With achingly slow movements, Sia slowly worked herself onto me, her pussy stretching, descending, taking me inside her. Soft, sexy buttocks settled into my groin, bulging slightly. I was buried in her, completely buried, the tip pressed to her deepest part.

She relaxed, her weight increasing, legs on either side of mine. The nightshirt fell obscuring my view. A pussy clench almost made me cum.

I groaned aloud.

"How ya doing back there?" she asked with a laugh.

Placing my hands on her hips, I tried to relax. My cock pulsed and swelled rhythmically inside her. Damn but she was tight. Blood raced through my veins. My heart thumped.

I thought it couldn't get any better, but it did.

"So," Sia said conversationally, "Let's watch TV."

"Really?" I asked.

"Uh-huh. This is the 'Doing something-philia'. We watch the movie and have sex at the same time. Fun, isn't it?"

Jeeeezus! How long could I last? Easing her nightshirt up, I admired the erotic sight of small naked buttocks pressed to my groin. God I loved her ass.

Sia moved. I felt it through my hands on her narrow hips and on my cock, a subtle circular motion that caressed my erection.

Waiting for another move was exquisite agony. Then she moved again, another circle. I paid no attention to the movie. It didn't exist. There was only Sia, her tight pussy, my straining cock buried in her slender body, and her subtle circular hip movements teasing me.

It seemed like hours. The willpower needed to let her lead was massive. I wanted to grab her, bend her over the couch and fuck her hard. I did nothing.

Slowly Sia's circles sped up. She started grinding herself on my erection, her hands finding my knees for support.

"This feels really good, Dad," she said a bit breathlessly. "Do you like it?"

I answered by slipping my hands up under her nightshirt, reaching around to cup her gorgeous breasts. Sia sighed with pleasure. For the next few minutes, I fondled her remarkably pert breasts, teasing her nipples into firmness with light pinches, Sia grinding herself on my lap.

When she shuddered slightly, I pulled her back to lean against me, one hand dropping between her spread legs to cup her pussy. Her hair tickled my face, her scent filling my lungs. I loved how her pussy felt, labia plumped out where I was penetrating her. Finding her clitoris, I caressed.

Sia moaned louder. My cock swelled. I couldn't wait. Holding one breast gently, my arm across her chest to hold her against me firmly, caressing her clit, I finally moved, withdrawing slightly and fucking into her. Sia trembled, her legs tightening against my knees.

Desire for her surged, a fire inside me desperately wanting her. We fucked slowly, each thrust exquisite, her pussy snug and slippery. We fucked harder, Sia's hands covering mine, one on her petite breast, one fondling her pussy.

Small pussy clenches milked my erection. Breathing faster, heart pounding, we fucked, her buttocks pressed to my groin, cock withdrawing, thrusting back into her gently, so damned erotic.

My orgasm stirred, heaviness in my groin, pressure, the promise of ecstasy so close. Could I hold off? Wait for her? The effort seemed to enhance my need; the desperate desire to cum in my sweet girl, fill her with semen, claim her; mine, only mine.

Just as I reached my limit, self-control slipping away, Sia groaned deeply. "Daddy," she whispered and her body shook, trembling as she fell into her climax, her pussy gripping and relaxing, gripping and relaxing.

"Jesus, Sia," I groaned. A moment of agony hit. My cock swelled, and I came.

A pulse of pleasure hit. Semen raced up, erection swelling, bliss slamming into me as cum erupted, a hard, hard spurt that stole my breath. Sia grunted as if she'd felt me cum, shuddered in my arms, her pussy clenching me tightly. I swelled, thrust, and came again, a massive spurt, ecstasy, ecstasy. The dam burst. Holding her tightly, one hand cupping her pussy, I thrust and came, semen spurting. I thrust and came, cock swelling, semen exploding into her young pussy, her buttocks pressed to my groin. It felt endless, cumming hard, beautiful pleasure. Suddenly, semen leaked from Sia's spasming pussy, slippery and warm against my hand and I shuddered deeply, cock pulsing, cumming in my sweet lover, cumming until drained, and still pulsing until my orgasm passed, releasing my taut body. I could breathe again.

Sia went limp. Small tremors passed through her, accompanied by gentle pussy hugs. Peace arrived, that special post-orgasmic peace that leaves me exhausted, sated, endorphins flooding my body.

Eventually I kissed Sia's neck. She sighed quietly, her hand caressing the back of mine. Her nipple had softened.

As my penis softened, it slipped from her pussy. Warm semen flowed out onto my groin.

Sia felt it. "We've made a mess," she commented softly.

"Maybe we should take a shower together," I suggested. She nodded her agreement.

I was treated to a beautiful sight. Sia stood, paused for a second, blushed, and reached under her nightshirt to cup her bare pussy. "Sorry," she said. "I'm leaking."

Watching her walk to the bathroom clutching her pussy was an amazing sight.

Sexually satisfied, we showered together. Sia, in her post-orgasmic lethargy, became soft and loving. Her soapy hands explored my body, not sexually, just discovering. It felt wonderful. I reciprocated; my soapy hands caressing her, and washing gently as I discovered how truly beautiful her body was. Sia had curves, subtle curves, in so many interesting places. I enjoyed washing her back, her spectacular buttocks, and smiled when she clenched her cheeks as I washed her butt crack. I loved the shape of her pussy, so full, mounded, plump between her thighs, and such a sexy gap.

Rubbing soapy bodies together while kissing softly was wonderful. I decided we were going to take a lot of showers together in the future.

Chapter Seventeen

That sex in the living room in mid-afternoon had a huge impact on Sia. As if she'd been held back before by uncertainty, and a lack of confidence in her ability to sexually satisfy me while having fun at the same time, she flourished. It seemed she had few inhibitions. I lost some of mine, too. I had no qualms about initiating sex with her. Sia loved sex as much as I did. She demonstrated it time and again: most times wanting soft loving, quiet climaxes, and snuggling; sometimes wanting recreational sex, quickies, fumbling and groping, sex in odd places around the house. She'd seek me out and lead me to the laundry room, "The washing machine's just about to hit the spin cycle. Let's see what it feels like! Hurry up, Dad!"

For three weeks we experimented. I was utterly happy and completely satisfied. I wanted no one else. Sia was enough.

However, events took an unexpected turn that tested me. Jasmin had become a staple in our house, arriving every Friday after school with Sia. I liked having her around. She was a beautiful girl, both physically and emotionally. Week by week she lost the emotional distance she'd had. She hugged me frequently, became almost as sassy as Sia and mischief flitted through her dark ebony eyes. Together with Sia, they played off each other, driving up their zaniness to new bewildering heights. Sometimes it amused me. More often, it scared me, their unpredictability frightening.

Alia took to dropping by and spending time on Fridays before taking Jasmin home. I truly enjoyed her company and the intelligent conversations we had. Alia was as sharply witty as I was. It made for some great laughs. But, even though I enjoyed it tremendously, the soft kiss she'd give me when leaving troubled me. I had a perfect lover living with me. I was sexually content. I shouldn't have needed more. Still, I couldn't stop my attraction to Alia. She was exotic, her dark ebony skin almost silky, enchanting eyes, straight jet black hair of tight waves, and a body that matched my wife's; slender and sensual, moving so gracefully.

It became more of a problem when Sia announced she was going to Jasmin's for a sleepover Saturday night. Alia invited me to dinner and to help handle the holy terrors.

I couldn't figure out a gentle way to dissuade Alia from seeking something more to our relationship.

Saturday evening I battled with the Old Sod, trying to make the pickup respond to steering wheel input without taking time to think about it. The Ford farted its way to Alia's house, black smoke billowing. Why the hell couldn't I just junk the damn thing?

Alia and Jasmin had a spectacular house. My eleven hundred square foot creaky home was dwarfed in comparison. Alia's home sprawled, one floor spread out with a double garage at one end, a vaulted room at the other. Long horizontal red bricks added to the illusion of expanse. Large windows let in light. A steep shingled roof suggested either a full attic or a second story with a view of the back garden; there were no upper-floor windows at the front.

Set in a clearing, about an acre in size, snow had melted to reveal spots of lawn and carefully planned bushes. Surrounding the property were old trees, tall and leafless, and green pines.

A wide double door opened when I rang the bell. Alia appeared, smiling, exotic eyes sparkling. "Finally. I was about to shoot myself to put me out of my misery," she said, taking the bottle of red wine I proffered.

Peals of laughter echoed from inside.

"Come on in," she invited.

Her house was beautiful. It was tastefully decorated, elegant like her, but relaxed, comfortable. The scent of roasting chicken filled the air. Huge floor-to-ceiling glass doors faced the back garden. Soft lighting from crystal table lamps gave the expansive living room a cozy feel. Hardwood floors had Persian carpets here and there, and her furniture reminded me of our old oak kitchen table; solid wood, aged to showcase wood grains, waxed to a shine.

I followed her into a large, modern kitchen with a Sub-Zero refrigerator and a Viking gas range, and sat on a stool at a kitchen island while she uncorked the wine. The pale-rose-infused grey granite countertop was cool under my hands.

I wanted to relax and enjoy myself. I couldn't. Alia was warm and charming and funny. She looked great in tight boot-leg jeans and a pale green V-neck cashmere sweater. It amused me to see her barefoot. A woman after my own heart.

Dinner was delicious, the company great, Sia and Jasmin animated and boisterous. It was a difficult evening for me, made more so by Alia's brush of her lips against mine, so full of messages.

I didn't even swear at the Old Sod when it rebelled against starting, wheezing into life with what now sounded like a burp.

SIA STRETCHED OUT ON the second bed in Jasmin's room. Jasmin was lucky to have such a large room. Her house was great, too. They even had a separate TV room with a huge-screen TV!

"You're so lucky to have a house like this," she told Jasmin.

Jasmin rolled onto her side, propping her head up. "You're the lucky one. You've got a dad. A really great dad."

"Yeah," Sia agreed with a sigh. "He's pretty great."

"I wish he was my dad," Jasmin said wistfully.

"Wouldn't that be fun? We'd be sisters!"

Both girls fell silent, Jasmin imagining having Mr. Hicks as a dad. Sia thought it would be wonderful until she thought about Dad being with Mrs. Sanderson. At first jealous, she dwelled on it. Would she really be jealous? Over the past few weeks, she'd understood how much Dad loves her. She'd also known how much he wanted her. That pleased her immensely. She was sure Dad would love her no matter what. But, would he want her as much if there was someone else? Was it even fair of her to keep him to herself?

She thought back to what she and Jasmin had done in bed the last sleepover. Was it fair for her to have sexy fun with someone else but not let Dad do the same thing? No.

Thinking of her and Jasmin, Sia rolled onto her side facing her friend. "Wanna sleep in the same bed together?" she asked.

Cuddled together in Jasmin's bed, Jasmin suggested they get naked.

"But what happens if your mom comes in?" Sia asked.

"She won't mind."

"Do you two sleep together every night?" Sia asked, shoving her pajama bottoms off.

"No. Not every night."

Both girls, now naked under the covers, looked at each other. With some giggles they embraced. Sia asked, "Does your mom give you oral sex?"

"Uh-huh."

Silence followed as the two kissed softly.

"Does your dad do it to you?"

"Oh yeah!"

"What does it feel like?" Jasmin asked.

"I don't know how to describe it. But, holy cow, my climaxes are almost painful! Hey, wanna try it on each other?"

"Okay!"

Twenty minutes later, hot and sweaty, the two girls cuddled.

"Phew! That was good," Sia said.

"So, did it feel different from what your dad does?" Jasmin asked.

"Yup. This was really good, but, with Dad my climax is much more intense."

"Lucky you," Jasmin sighed. "I wish I could experience it."

"We should get them together. Then you'd really be my sister! I know Dad likes your mom."

"How do you know?" Jasmin asked.

"His laugh. He has this polite laugh he uses with everyone. But the laugh he uses with your mom is the one he uses when he really likes someone. It's different."

Jasmin said, "Mom likes your dad. I saw her kiss him."

"No!" Sia exclaimed breathlessly. "When?"

"When she said goodbye to him once. At your house."

"What type of kiss was it?"

"A kiss. They're all the same."

"No they aren't. There are all sorts of kisses," Sia informed her. "How did your mom kiss him?"

"She brushed her lips against his slowly. It looked like a soft kiss."

"Those are the worst," Sia said. "That means she really likes Dad."

"How so?" Jasmin asked, now intrigued.

"That type of kiss is all emotion. It says I like you. It's not just a polite kiss."

"How many ways are there to kiss?"

Sia grinned. "Want me to show you?"

Jasmin nodded. Their faces came together, lips touching. Sia demonstrated the difference between a brushing lip kiss; a soft pressure kiss full of promise; a teasing kiss with the tip of a tongue; and, as she demonstrated a full French kiss, the girls shuffled closer to each other.

It started with gently touching each other's breasts, a soft caress, a gentle squeeze, a nipple tweaked. Hands moved down as tongues played, cupping each other's pussy, feeling, exploring, fingertips probing into moist clefts, and sighs of pleasure as clits were rubbed.

French kissing, moans sounded, hips began to move as clits became sensitive, pleasure beginning to pulse, pussies damp. They humped each other's hand, hips moving faster and faster as the promise of ecstasy emerged and, kissing each other hard, both girls snorted in breaths and tumbled into their climaxes, hips thrashing, humping each other furiously until their climaxes passed, finally releasing them. Panting, they pulled apart.

"Wow," Jasmin said.

"I Know! See how many ways there are to kiss?"

Jasmin laughed. "I meant the orgasm, like wow!"

Sia laughed. "Yeah, that too."

A WARM FRONT HAD moved in. Snow was now down to the last of the big winter drifts, the land in-between finally free. I'd picked Sia up from her sleepover and she looked exhausted. Sleepover was the wrong name. It should be called a 'stay-awakeover', in my opinion.

"How was it?" I asked, paying close attention to the road. A corner was coming up and the Old Sod was never predictable. Neither was my daughter.

"Is it a lie if I don't tell you something?" she asked.

"The sin of omission? No. As long as not telling doesn't hurt anyone it's not wrong. I don't tell you everything. I don't expect you to tell me everything."

"What don't you tell me, Dad?" my suspicious daughter asked, a bit of energy appearing.

"I don't tell you when my butt itches and I scratch it. I don't tell you when I stick a Q-Tip in my ear. I don't tell you when I eat a candy bar on the way home from work. I don't tell . . ."

"Daaaad! I mean secrets."

"Those were secrets." I smiled when she thumped my arm.

Two miles later she announced, "I think you should take Mrs. Sanderson on a date. She likes you and you like her. Call her and take her out."

"Well, that came out of the blue. Why would I date her? I'm happy with you. I'll be happy with you when you're sixteen. I'll be happy with you when you're twenty. I may even be happy with you when you're twenty-five, although I'll hold judgment on that one."

Sia laughed. "You'll be happy with me no matter how old I am. You're my dad. But, that's not why."

"Then why?"

Sia proved once again how mature her perspective was.

"If you're dating Mrs. Sanderson, no one will ever speculate about us. Besides, it'll do you good. You like being with her. She likes being with you, and I can spend time with Jasmin. See? Everyone's a winner!"

"I'm disappointed," I said. "I thought you'd be just a little jealous."

"I was, when I first thought about it. But I like Mrs. Sanderson. And, as I said before, if I like the person, I won't mind.

Her hand patted my thigh. "I know you'll love me always, Dad. So dating someone I like doesn't bother me. But that doesn't mean you can go out with anyone else! Just Mrs. Sanderson." As an afterthought, Sia added, "Besides, I'm only lending you to Mrs. Sanderson. You're mine first and for ever, whether you like it or not."

For the rest of the day, I gave it due consideration. I liked Alia. I could have happily dated her before things with Sia developed. But now, I couldn't take the risk. I couldn't take any chance Alia might discover our secret.

Standing up, I carried Sia from the living room. She'd passed out from exhaustion. She didn't even wake up when I put her in bed, just snuggling close, automatically.

In a darkened bedroom, with Sia at my side, I made a decision. The least I could do is take Alia out for dinner and gently convince her I wasn't interested in her that way; I wasn't the right person for her.

Chapter Eighteen

The week passed quickly. Warm weather hung around, melting the last of the snow. Spring was officially here, buds popping out on trees and bushes, birds twittering, ground squirrels foraging. I'd informed Sia of my decision to gently let Alia down and she'd just dismissed me. "It's not that easy, Dad. Trust me. You're gonna date her."

Friday night I escorted Alia into our local version of Tex-Mex, a restaurant aptly called Tex-Mex Bar and Grill. It was large, had multiple television screens, all playing different sports events, loud music and deep booths. Conversations were raised to overcome the music. In a booth, we could talk and never be overheard.

Alia, showing her well-honed sense of style, wore skinny jeans, black leather ankle boots with tall heels, a sky-blue buttoned-down men's shirt, and a brown leather jacket. A white gold chain hung around her neck with matching earrings dangling, the tight waves of her glossy dark hair falling free and straight, framing her face.

We ordered. The waitress brought Alia her wheat pale ale and my Heineken. Conversation flowed easily, very easily. When she laughed her whole face lit up, exotic eyes twinkled, and her smile was broad and bright.

When is the right time to turn a conversation to serious matters? When we're having fun? Over starters? Over a main meal of baby back ribs? Indecision ended when we finished the ribs. I'd almost left it too late.

As we ordered another beer, I broached the subject.

"Alia, I think you know how much I like you."

Her endlessly deep eyes studied me.

"I think there could be something here. I can't explain why, but the timing can't work."

Alia smiled slightly. She touched the back of my hand with hers and withdrew it. In a sign I was beginning to recognize, she used both hands to turn her glass of beer on the table.

"I like you, Philip. I think you're a good guy; one of those truly good guys. I have a few things I want to say, but before I do, before I can ask you to be honest with me, I need to be honest with you. I think I can trust you."

She had me intrigued.

After taking a sip of beer, she set the glass down, fingers turning it, her eyes on the table. They rose to look into mine.

"When Jasmin was seven years old, after Jerry had been arrested, she suffered from nightmares. It was a difficult time for her and for me.

"Every time she'd wake up screaming and crying I'd go to her and try to calm her. Inevitably she'd wake up again, frightened and calling for me."

Alia's eyes saddened. "It was so hard to listen to my child cry. It hurt when she'd say, "Please don't let Daddy hurt me, Mommy." I think you might understand that better than most."

I did. As she sipped her beer, my mind went back; Sia, six years old, her body wracked with grief, crying and clinging to me as if afraid I, too, would die. It's one of the hardest things in the world to see your child hurt and not be able to make it better. It wasn't a scrape or bruise that a kiss and Band Aid would make better. It was a deep psychological pain inaccessible to a father's kiss. Only patience and love could reach it.

"I understand completely," I said.

Alia continued. "I started keeping Jasmin in bed with me. It comforted her. It helped her to sleep. It provided the safety and security she so desperately needed."

Smiling, I interjected, "I did the same for Sia."

Alia nodded and smiled slightly. She twirled her half-empty beer glass and looked down at it. Her voice grew softer. "Jasmin stayed in my bed, sleeping with me. I discovered she was giving me the gift of peace. Every night her scent would calm me. She was so sweet, cuddling in a ball at my side." Looking up and meeting my eyes, she continued. "Watching a child sleep is a gift. They're so innocent, so cute. In sleep they relax and the pure beauty of a child emerges."

I nodded. She'd expressed the same wonder I'd felt watching Sia sleep.

"It became routine and, without meaning to, having Jasmin sleep in my bed became normal. She slept in my bed every night until last year. It thrilled me when she slept in her own bed, but it saddened me, too. I missed her."

"It sounds like you handled it perfectly," I observed. "Jasmin seems to be blossoming and well adjusted."

"She is. You should take some of the credit, I think." Alia sipped her beer and frowned. "It's warm. Would you like a fresh one?"

"Sure."

Placing the order, Alia resumed. "I haven't told you the whole truth. This part's harder. When Jasmin turned eleven, puberty arrived. It was a confusing time for her. Imagine, a girl starting the journey into womanhood, afraid of males yet suffering from a flood of hormones, new desires emerging. She was conflicted. On one hand, she couldn't relax around any guy, of any age. Yet, she had a body that was beginning to respond sexually."

The waitress delivered our drinks. I held my silence. This was Alia's show. I wondered how she'd handled a difficult set of circumstances so very few parents are ever faced with.

She sipped her pale wheat beer after we clinked glasses. Her pink tongue emerged to wipe up a foam mustache.

"Jasmin's behavior changed. She became short tempered, withdrawing from friends and me. Other signs emerged. She started chewing her nails. Her appearance changed. From a girl who cared about fashion she became a . . . well, a slob.

"It took weeks for me to open her up, to get her to talk. But, once the wall of silence was breached, like a poison it came oozing out.

"I did what I thought was right. In hind sight there might have been other options, but I was too close, too involved."

A long silence followed. We both sipped beer. She studied me with those endlessly deep eyes. I felt like I was being measured, assessed.

"I did what I thought was right," she repeated. "I taught her about her body, how to accept it, how to pleasure herself, and to understand how wonderful a gift it was for a body to feel ecstasy. I taught her to never be ashamed of feeling herself, pleasuring herself. I taught her how to make her body ache with desire and find release.

"At first it worked. My little girl slowly returned to me. But then she had questions, lots of questions."

I chuckled. "I know how that works. Sia's never stopped asking questions since she learned to talk."

Alia smiled. "I've noticed. Well, Jasmin asked questions that involved puberty and maturity. Somehow, I really don't recall how, we began to explore how her body would react to someone else's touch. It grew from there. What I'm trying to say, badly at that, is Jasmin and I became lovers when she was eleven years old. I enjoyed it, Philip. I enjoyed loving my little girl. We still enjoy each other."

I studied her, waiting for her to continue. Did she expect me to be shocked? Perhaps I might have been if I didn't know Jasmin so well. I couldn't see any negative effects in her. To the contrary, Jasmin was a wonderful girl.

Alia smiled softly. "You're not shocked. I knew you wouldn't be. But, you can see how disastrous it would be if it became known. Have I ruined your image of me? Do you think I took advantage of her?"

I considered her question carefully. Who was I to judge?

"Let me ask you this," I said. "Were you attracted to the same sex before this?"

"Aside from some exploratory kisses with my girlfriends when I was a young teen, no."

"Did her age excite you?"

The pause was longer. "Being completely honest? Yes. But only after things started. Not before. In fact it wasn't even a factor until she was almost twelve."

"Despite the trials in your life, and those faced by Jasmin, I think you've done an amazing job at raising an incredible girl. Have you ruined my image of you? No, not at all. Have you abused your relationship with Jasmin? Not that I can see. I might think differently if Jasmin wasn't so well adjusted, but she's blossoming, emotionally and physically. No. I think you've done a wonderful job." I smiled when Alia let out a breath.

"So, dessert? Another beer?" I offered.

"Beer. I have to watch my sugar intake. Too much and I'll need a new wardrobe."

"Beer it is." I waved to the waitress and held up two fingers. She nodded.

"I've told you this for a reason, Philip. I trust you to keep my secret."

She studied me again, head tilting slightly. "I've noticed things over the past few months. I think you have a very . . . unconventional relationship with your daughter."

Apprehension made my gut clench. I drained the last of the beer clutching the glass hard. It rattled when I set it down. "In what way?"

"Sia obviously loves you. No. She adores you. It's clear for anyone to see how she dotes on you. It's also clear you adore her. I've never seen two people so connected, so attuned to each other. But, I've also noticed little things that tell me you and Sia have an intimate relationship."

Blood sounded loud in my ears, roaring as it raced through my veins. It had been my deepest fear; that people would find out and ruin my daughter's life. Why hadn't I been stronger? Fuck!

"Philip? Philip!" Alia said sharply. When she had my attention, she spoke. "I'm not judging you. Relax for goodness' sake." She smiled. "Let me throw your words back at you. I think you've done a wonderful job raising a special girl. Sia's perfectly charming, bright, outgoing and, from what I've seen, perfectly well adjusted. It seems to me, rather than harming her, the intimacy has let her glow and flourish. And seeing you two together is magical in its own way."

We were interrupted by the waitress delivering more beers. When she left, I sipped mine, taking pleasure in the icy cool taste. It helped clear the fog of fear.

"Why did you tell me all this?" I asked.

"It's hard to carry secrets like these. It's draining, in a way. I thought it would be good to finally have someone to talk to, someone who felt the same, who wasn't, um, well wasn't a predator or abuser."

In a strange way, Alia was right. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted a sympathetic ear and some advice on how to manage our unconventional relationship over the long term. It would be nice to have a female to interpret those mystifying traits of a teenage girl.

"Did you know Sia was the one insisting I take you on a date?"

Alia grinned. "Yes."

"I wondered why she isn't jealous. She's a teen after all. When I asked her, she said she likes you so it's okay. How does that work?"

Alia laughed. "I know she isn't jealous. She told me."

"When?"

"At the sleepover."

Frowning, I asked, "What else did she tell you?"

"Your daughter is stubborn to a fault. But, she's not a good liar. She can't mask those incredible eyes. By the way, I meant to ask you, did your wife have blue eyes?"

"No. Sia has heterochromia. It's a genetic thing."

"Well, they're stunning. Anyway, I had a quiet chat with her when Jasmin was taking a shower on Sunday morning. Sia was adamant I was wrong. She almost cried at one point. As it turns out, Sia and Jasmin don't have any secrets."

"Jesus! You mean Jasmin knows, too?"

"Independent of me, Jasmin noticed things too. She's very observant."

"Is it really that obvious? How many other will notice?" I asked, concern growing.

Alia smiled. "Anyone that spends as much time as Jasmin and I have with you two AND have been in a similar relationship would notice." She added with a grin, "How many other single parents like us are there in this town? I think you're safe. Jasmin and I have survived for the last three years without a leak."

"Still. That scared me," I admitted.

With twinkling eyes, Alia said, "I'm not finished. Brace yourself, Philip."

I steeled myself with a sip of beer.

"Jasmin and Sia have been . . . experimenting together on their sleepovers."

Beer spurted from my mouth spraying over the table. Alia laughed deeply. Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I asked, "Experimenting how?"

"Think about it. Jasmin has experience with a female. Sia has experience with a male. I think they have a lot of information to trade, don't you?"

Leaning back, I thought about Sia's behavior. With these revelations, I began to understand her. First was her apparent openness about me seeing someone else. I pictured her saying, "As long as I like them, Dad." Huh. Then there was her question, ""Is it a lie if I don't tell you something?" Grinning, I realized Sia thought she'd cheated on me with Jasmin!

"What's so funny?" Alia asked.

I explained. Alia agreed, amused by it. She reached across and placed her hand on the back of mine.

"It's okay, Philip. It's normal for young girls to experiment with each other," she reassured with a pretend sympathetic expression.

I turned my hand. Alia left her hand in mine. It felt good to hold her slender hand. I felt like a weight I never knew I was carrying - the burden of secrecy - had lifted.

"Could I talk you into a nightcap at my house?" Alia asked, squeezing my hand. "I'd love to hear what it's like to have a relationship with such a charming girl."

I pictured Sia, in the living room, dropping her panties, raising her nightshirt, her bare bottom. I must have blushed.

She grinned. "That's interesting. So how about it?"

"I should call Sia."

Alia pulled out her phone. "I'll call Jasmin." She tapped her phone, tilted her head and placed it against her ear. "Turn the music down!" she ordered, wincing. "How are you two doing? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Okay. Don't burn Mr. Hicks' house down. Listen, we're about to leave the restaurant. We're stopping off at home for a nightcap, so Mr. Hicks might be a bit late." A pause followed, Alia raising her eyebrows at me. "It's not Philip, Jasmin, it's Mr. Hicks. Oh. Okay." she extended the phone to me. "She wants to talk to you."

"Hi Jasmin."

"Hey! How's it going with Mom?"

"Fine."

"Sia says to tell you . . . what was it, Sia? Oh yeah. Sia says to tell you not to do anything she wouldn't." Jasmin giggled. "Have fun. See ya later."

The call ended. I handed the phone back to Alia. "What was that about burning the house down?"

"Seems the girls want to start a fire and roast marshmallows."

"Sia hates marshmallows," I said. "Or used to. So, did you mention sharing experiences over a nightcap?"

The drive back to Alia's house was interesting. The Old Sod was in fine form, stubbornly refusing to start. Just as the battery reached the end of its charge, the pickup belched a black cloud of complaint, shuddered for a while, gashed its teeth when I tried to engage first gear, and finally inched forward.

Alia grinned, petting the dashboard. "He's cute," she said.

"Don't encourage the Old Sod," I warned.

She laughed. "Is that his name?"

Her house was dark, sitting on grounds surrounded by huge old-growth trees. She led me in, turning on a hall light and shrugging off her leather jacket. I managed to admire her rump in tight jeans; a lovely pear shape.

In the living room, small lamps cast enough glow to warm the room and make it feel cozy.

"Sit," she instructed. "I'll get us some beers, unless you want something harder."

"Beer is great. Thanks."

When she returned, handing me a bottle of Stella Artois, she sat next to me and curled her legs up. "So tell me, what's it like to have such a young lover? How did it start?" she asked.

Our conversation flowed. I had to admit, just talking about Sia, and listening to her talk about making love to Jasmin, aroused me. Alia's eyes seemed deeper, a darker ebony. Her smiles were gentle, lips animated and soft.

At one point, as I told her about my decision to hold off on intercourse and how we'd ended up making love anyway, just after Jasmin's first stay-over, Alia's hand rested lightly on my thigh, an intimate touch.

"It sounds like Sia's first time was perfect," she said. "I wish mine had been like that, instead of the hasty fumbling in the back seat of Jerry's car."

"So he was your first?"

"And my last. I became too involved with caring for Jasmin to even think about another relationship."

"But you're so beautiful. Surely you must have had guys swarming you."

Alia laughed brightly. "I did. But one-night stands were not what I was looking for. How about you?"

"I've had an occasional dalliance but they were very few. I wasn't comfortable bringing casual partners home with Sia there."

Alia smiled softly. "So we've both been deprived." Her eyes studied me.

It seemed so natural when we inched our faces closer. Our lips touched. Once again, I was reminded of how silken they were, warm. I caught her scent; pears and lemons, fresh and delectable.

The kiss was slow, just lips brushing together, her breath wafting against my cheek. When Alia's hand cupped my cheek, pressure grew, the kiss deepening. My body responded.

It was a great kiss, full of promise, comfortable yet exciting. Still, I felt like I was cheating on my daughter.

"Maybe I should check in with Sia," I said.

Alia smiled with amusement. She knew why. "What time is it?"

"Ten-forty," I told her after glancing at my watch.

"Late. Maybe too late. What do you imagine they're doing now? Do you think they've gone to bed? Doesn't Sia only have one bed?" Her hand caressed my thigh. "Maybe they're exploring. Imagine Jasmin and Sia naked together. Can you see them? I'd love to watch those two, the color contrast between them."

Her mouth moved close to mine. She whispered, "I wonder if they're kissing. Girls like to kiss." Her lips brushed the corner of my mouth, breath clean and warm. "Did I tell you they touch each other? I heard them last week. Can you remember the sweet sound of a young girl climaxing? Imagine it with two."

Jesus! How could imagining Sia and Jasmin naked and locked together turn me on so much? I kissed Alia. Beers were set aside. Our kiss turned erotic, with the hesitant touch of tongue, arousal rushing in, erection emerging. Kissing Alia was so different, mature and sexy. I hadn't had a kiss like it since Soraya.

Alia's hand caressed my shoulder before settling on my neck in a move just like Sia's.

I ended the kiss. Our faces were close together. I could feel her breath, now slightly short. Alia opened her eyes and studied me.

"I really want to be with you," I said softly.

"But?" she asked.

Touching her cheek, I said, "I feel guilty. It feels like I'm cheating on Sia. I know what she's said but she's still a young girl. I need to talk to her. I don't want to hurt her."

Alia smiled. "I knew you were a great guy. I think your concern is wonderful. It makes you more attractive."

She kissed me lightly, exotic eyes smiling.

"Does Jasmin know?"

Alia chuckled. "Yes. She knows how I feel about you. She noticed me kiss you goodnight. When we chatted, her response was, "It's about time, Mom." You should get home, Philip. Those girls might have burned your house down by now."

They hadn't. The house was silent. A side table lamp had been left on. The mesh fire gate was closed, orange embers slowly fading.

It was almost midnight. On the way to bed, I peeked into Sia's bedroom. The girls were cuddled together under a quilt, sound asleep. Once again, I marveled at how sleep brought out such sweetness and innocence.

Chapter Nineteen

Saturday morning, while sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, two sleepy girls entered the kitchen, mussed and cuddly looking. Sia's eyes brightened when she saw me, moving to hug me from behind.

"You're home," she said.

"Where else would I be?" I asked, pleasantly surprised when Jasmin hugged me briefly.

Sia hunted through the fridge, and pulled out milk and orange juice. I watched Jasmin find bowls and spoons as if she lived here. Sia pulled a box of Froot Loops out and both girls parked themselves at the table.

Pouring cereal, bending to sniff it, apparently satisfied, Sia grinned at me. "I thought you'd still be at Jasmin's place, you know, getting it on?"

Jasmin giggled, her hand trying to hide her mouth, dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I might have been. But you two forced me to come home. I had to make sure you hadn't burned the house to the ground."

"Daaaad! You taught me to make a fire. I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah. But the marshmallows worried me. And, by the way, since when did you start liking marshmallows?"

"Have you ever smelled them?" Sia asked. "They're, like, awesome!"

Sia and I didn't get to chat until late morning, after Alia had picked Jasmin up. We hustled to do the weekly grocery shopping and finally talked as I put everything away, Sia helping by keeping out of the way, her butt parked comfortably at the table as she ate a banana.

The conversation was short. When I asked her how she felt about me possibly having a relationship with Alia, Sia was surprised we hadn't already.

"I couldn't," I explained. "I told you I'd never do anything to hurt you and I won't."

My daughter smiled slightly, her mismatched eyes softening. "I know. Thanks, Dad. But I told you it's okay. I like Mrs. Sanderson. I want you to have fun."

"You don't feel guilty, do you?" I inquired.

"About what?"

"Well, someone mentioned that you and Jasmin might have been having some fun yourselves."

A furious blush emerged, her pale freckles standing out. "Oh."

Grinning, I asked, "Care to tell me about it?"

Still blushing, Sia said, "I had questions."

Typical Sia! When I laughed she joined in.

"So, you're sure it won't upset you if Alia and I see each other?"

"Daaaad! You can be so dense at times. I TOLD you I don't mind."

With that, the last of my doubts left. But, I was still horny from last night. Sia looked edible, cute and sexy.

"How about you make sandwiches for lunch?"

She eyed me suspiciously. "What are you gonna do while I make 'em?"

"Relax. I put all the groceries away. It's your turn to do something."

I didn't relax.

When Sia stood at the kitchen counter, I moved in behind her, kissing her on the top of her head and wrapping my arms around her. Sia relaxed and leaned against me, spreading mayo on sliced bread.

Every time I held her, I found myself adoring how petite she was. It excited me. Feeling randy, I slid my hands up to cup her lovely adolescent breasts. Sia laughed until I caressed, carefully squeezed, and teased her nipples into hardness with my thumb pads.

"I'm trying to work, Dad," she told me without much conviction.

Bending, I kissed her hair, inhaling her scent. "I'm trying to help," I murmured. Slipping a hand down, I cupped her crotch, adding pressure.

Sia squirmed. "You're not helping."

"Mmmm." I rubbed her pussy through her jeans. "You sure?"

She squirmed again.

When I unbuttoned her jeans, Sia laughed lightly. She crossed her feet closing her thighs tightly as I fished down inside. Soft cotton brushed against my fingertips.

A bit of force and I was cupping soft cotton covering Sia's pussy.

The dinner knife slipped off the slice of bread, spreading mayo on the counter.

"Daaaad! I can't make lunch when you're doing that."

Tracing the outline of my daughter's cleft, rubbing the bulge of my erection against her delectable rump, I confessed, "I'm not that hungry."

Sia rubbed her butt against me. "You just want to use me."

"The thought had crossed my mind," I admitted with a smile. I kissed the top of her head again, groped her panties, such a succulent mound, and added, "Don't you care about your father's pain?"

Sia laughed. "You're definitely a pain, Dad. A pain in the ass!"

Ass. Hmmm. I wonder . . .

Sia grabbed my wrist and tugged my fondling hand out of her jeans. She twisted around, beautiful eyes shining, the waist of her jeans open enough to reveal the top of soft, white, ribbed cotton with a tiny pink bow on the elastic waist. Why did such innocent panties seem so sexy? My erection hardened even more.

Bending, I kissed her gently, my hands tugging her jeans down. They fell in a crumple at her feet. Panties I'd associate with a younger girl hugged her, emphasizing the press of her mons, the small pink bow just below her belly button.

"Did I ever tell you about quickies?" I asked a tad breathlessly.

"You mean, like, recreational sex?" She grinned at me.

"Um. Yeah, like recreational sex only faster."

Sia laughed. "Is Daddy horny? Wanna go to bed?"

Taking her hand, I pulled her towards the kitchen table. "The bed's too far away."

My daughter giggled at my urgency. Maybe she didn't understand the ache in my groin or the strength of my erection. She shuffled, her ankles still trapped in jeans. Moving a chair away, Sia was compliant, if giggling harder, as I bent her face-first over the table.

My God but her butt was pretty in panties, rounded seductively, small buttocks, and a dip of cotton outlining her bum crack.

Despite an urgent need to seek satisfaction, I couldn't resist. Kneeling on the floor, I first caressed her ass, mapping its shape and, with mounting excitement, slowly drew her panties down. The top of her buttocks emerged, then the top of her bum crack. But better by far, was the appearance of her pussy.

Panties slipped down her legs to collect around the jeans. My attention was on the three-finger gap at the top of her thighs. Sia's pussy filled the space, ripe and young. Somewhere in the last few months, her soft downy body hair had darkened even more; short hairs on her labia, uncurled, thin, so sexy. They accentuated her pubescence and made her labia look ever-more plump. Her clitoris peeked out halfway down a tightly closed short cleft.

For a moment, I closed my eyes in an attempt to tamp down the desire that threatened to take charge. Rubbing her sweet buttocks, I leaned in. The faint scent of her hit me and went straight to my brain, rocketing down to my groin, cock swelling even more; a very light hint of musk yet fresh and clean, almost sweet.

Almost worshipfully, I kissed Sia's pussy, so soft and warm. I traced her closed cleft with my tongue, touched her clit, slipped higher and probed into her. Moist warmth greeted me. I tasted ambrosia, the inside of her cleft glassy smooth.

There was silence in the kitchen. The wall clock ticked loudly. I probed deeper into Sia's pussy and found her entrance, so tiny, so exciting.

The first sound was Sia inhaling sharply when I sucked her clitoris, a small tremor passing through her. With my tongue, I strummed her clit. Sia moaned quietly. Another suck and Sia responded.

"Oh Gaaaawd."

She joined in with subtle movements, rotating her pussy against my mouth. Strumming her clit, Sia clenched her buttocks and relaxed.

"Mmmm."

I tasted a sudden increase in moisture, her scent growing more intense, headier. I strummed her clitoris and Sia snorted. She was already close.

Sucking harder and teasing her clit, Sia tumbled into a climax. A sharp inhalation and her body trembled. Her ass started shaking. She rubbed her pussy against my mouth, quiet gasps sounding. Sia shuddered and shook quietly, her pussy suddenly slick, wet. A cute grunt echoed and she went limp.

Standing, desire for her now driving me, I dropped my jeans and boxers and shuffled up to her, aiming my straining erection. Jesus I looked big!

The tip kissed her cleft. I swelled and pressed lightly dragging the tip up and down her slit, spreading her wetness and my precum, slowly pushing her labia aside.

I saw nothing but my large erection poised to penetrate her small pussy, labia bulging, yielding. Dragging the tip up, I lodged it at her entrance, paused, then pressed firmly.

That incredible sensation hit me again; the slow dilation, warm, moist, stretching to accommodate my girth. A sudden release of pressure and I was in, penetrating my little girl, the crown gripped by her tight vagina. Jesus I loved it!

Holding her narrow hips, I sank into her body, a velvet sheath gripping me. I penetrated Sia slowly in one thrust until her sweet buttocks were pressed to my groin. I was in heaven, my erection pulsing, her pussy so warm and soft, so snug.

Pulling her buttocks apart, her rosebud appeared, tightly closed. Below, I drowned in the sight of Sia's pussy tightly stretched around my shaft. It seemed to invert when I withdrew, my cock glistening. Labia bulged when I stroked into her. Just the sight of an adult erection fucking such a young pussy was intensely erotic, almost enough for me.

Selfishly, I started fucking Sia, long withdrawals, firm thrusts, her butt cheeks pressing against me. I fucked Sia gently but firmly, my need increasing to the point of losing it. Reaching down, I collected slippery liquid and spread it around her rosebud, slowly applying pressure.

Thrusting and withdrawing, fucking my sweet lover, I penetrated her anus with my finger to the first knuckle. The effect was astonishing. Sia snorted loudly. She grunted deeply. Her buttocks clenched tightly.

"Oh God, Daddy," she gasped, and fell into a second climax.

I couldn't stop myself. Thrusting into her firmly, her buttocks shaking, withdrawing, stroking in, fucking her faster as her pussy contracted on my cock with each pulse of her climax, I fell.

Shoving deep, the kitchen table scraping across the floor, my cock swelled. A cramp hit. Semen pulsed up my shaft and I exploded deep inside her. Before I could breathe, I thrust again and an even more painful explosion hit, bliss slamming into me. Driven, I fucked Sia hard, selfishly, cum erupting with each thrust, ecstasy flooding me. I fucked and exploded, sweet release, beautiful pleasure, cumming hard, hard. A final weak pulse left me drained, sated, now tired.

In what must be the world's sexiest sight, one I'd never forget, thick white semen flowed out of my daughter's pussy when I withdrew, a steady pulsing flow that ran down her cleft to drip in thick gobs into the crotch of her white cotton panties at her feet.

"That was a quickie?" Sia asked.

Bending over her, I kissed her cheek. Her eyes were closed. I nuzzled her before responding. She purred.

"Yup, that was a quickie."

Sia treated me to another lifelong memory. She straightened as I bent to pull up my clothes, stared at the wall clock while bending, gathered the waist of her panties and jeans and tugged them up her legs.

"You're right! That was fast. We only took . . ."

The most beautiful blush stormed into her face, pale freckles standing out. She'd just felt what was soaking the gusset of her panties.

She stared at my grin, her face flushed. Magnificent eyes narrowed. "It's NOT funny!" she exclaimed. "Now I've gotta take a shower."

She wasn't impressed with my roar of laughter as she exited the kitchen quickly in a duck walk, holding her jeans up. When I offered to wash her back for her, she ignored me, too.

Thankfully, she entered the living room looking all sweet and everything, with soft pale grey sweats and a tight navy blue tank top, feet bare. I admired how fresh she looked and noticed a glow in her face. She smiled, too, before dropping to the couch next to me, curling up and leaning against me. I wrapped an arm around her.

For once, she didn't change the channel.

"That was pretty embarrassing," she said.

"It happens. You shouldn't be embarrassed at all. It was my fault, after all."

When she didn't respond, I added, "There's nothing we do together that you should feel embarrassed about."

"Kay."

She must have been tired from a late night with Jasmin and two climaxes. Sia gradually relaxed, slid down with her head finding my lap and, as I caressed her bare arm, she fell asleep. It was one-thirty in the afternoon.

For the next two hours, I watched TV with only half my attention. It seemed to me that Sia was being honest about wanting me to date Alia. Nevertheless, it complicated my life. How would I handle two females when one was already completely satisfying me? Did I have the stamina? It wasn't that Sia and I were going at it like a pair of bunnies, but our sex life was evolving, now blending soft loving in bed with sexy adventures out of bed. Sia was experimenting with me, trying new things. Our frequency of sex had increased with it.

And what about emotionally? Would I be able to give Sia the attention she deserved? Selfishly, I wanted every minute of my daughter's time. I'd deliberately encouraged her to keep up with her outside socializing to make sure we didn't become too blinded with each other. But, could I divide time between Alia and Sia without hurting my daughter?

Sia without stirring to tell me she was awake, asked, "Did you and Mom have anal sex?"

Trust her to ask something out of left field. "Where did that come from?"

"I have questions. So did you?"

"Yes."

"Did she enjoy it?"

"I think so or we wouldn't have done it."

"Isn't it, like, dirty?"

"Not really. You've used a douche, right?"

"Oh," she responded softly. "Does anal sex hurt?"

"Did the first time we made love hurt?"

"Not really. Just a bit at first." She paused. "I think I might want to try it with you sometime."

"We've all the time in the world. No need to rush."

Chapter Twenty

With spring officially arriving, snow gone and days growing longer, outside activities demanded more time. Sia, while not the most athletic girl, liked field hockey. She might not be the tallest girl, but she could move when it mattered. Jasmin was at every practice and game rooting for her. Unlike Sia, she didn't participate in team sports.

I became accustomed to Jasmin being in our house. We were located within walking distance of the school and Alia would drop by to pick her up after work. Inevitably, Alia and I would chat and share a drink.

Two weeks after our last date, when our schedules finally meshed, Alia asked me out. I accepted. When I asked where she was taking me, she smiled and told me to dress comfortably. The two holy terrors were conveniently going to another sleepover at Lara's - no risk of our house burning to the ground.

Alia picked me up on Saturday. She was very elegant. A mid-calf, dark blue cashmere skirt was matched with a powder blue silk blouse, a long black coat open. I felt underdressed in dark brown slacks, a polo, and leather bomber jacket.

"I thought you said to dress down."

She smiled. "I am. You look great."

Leaning in, rising to her tiptoes, she gave me a soft kiss, before urging me, "Come on. We'll be late."

We took her Lexus SUV. In the car, when I asked her where we were going, she smiled.

"Just wait and see."

She took me to the movies. I wondered when she bought tickets to Brooklyn. I was very curious when, at the snack counter, without consulting me, she ordered chili fries and a Root Beer, passing them to me.

As we took our seats, I asked, "How did you know I have an addiction to chili fries?" While eating a crispy fry with a dollop of chili, I added, "And how did you know I wanted to see this movie?"

Alia smiled. "I was given a detailed agenda by Sia and Jasmin."

"What else did the agenda specify?"

Alia gave one of those amused smiles. "You'll have to wait and see."

"I don't like surprises."

With a laugh, Alia disagreed. "Not according to your daughter."

Brooklyn was a charming character study. When food was finished, Alia casually reached over and took my hand in hers, intertwining her fingers with mine. I felt like a teenager again, excited by holding a girl's hand, wondering if intimacy would ensue. At cute moments in the movie, Alia would give my hand a soft squeeze. I wondered if she'd ever played the game of footsie, smiling at the thought.

She held my hand all the way back to her car.

"Where are we going now?" I asked, envious at how her car responded to the ignition key with such alacrity.

"You'll see," she replied, handling the Lexus with competence.

"Nice car, by the way. Does it ever belch?"

She laughed.

We arrived at her home. She escorted me in and instructed me to sit, disappearing towards the kitchen. I followed the sound of a cupboard opening, a refrigerator opening, ice clinking. Returning, she sat next to me and handed me a cut-crystal glass half full of rich amber liquid.

"Cheers," she said, raising her own glass. Ice tinkled, crystal rang as the rims of the glasses touched.

I tasted. "Mmmm. Glenlivet. A woman after my own heart. How did you know?"

"Can't you guess?"

"The holy terrors?"

Alia laughed and nodded.

We fell into an easy conversation. Once again I was reminded how nice it was to chat with someone so insightful, intelligent, witty, and knowledgeable. She had wide-ranging interests, expressed outrage at how women were still being treated in the world, and liked Putin as much as I did; not at all.

Scotch softened us. As the drinks finished, Alia leaned towards me and our lips met in a light kiss. She stood and, without a word, extended her hand to me without a word. When I took it and stood, she turned, leading me by the hand down a long hall and into her bedroom.

As I would have guessed, Alia's bedroom was just as elegant as the rest of her house. Her bed, queen size, was white iron forming an intricate headboard and shorter footboard. White with sky blue striped linen sheets, a thick matching quilt covered it, four plump pillows at the head. Two low-watt side lamps cast a soft glow over the room. My feet sank into pale blue, almost white, thick wall-to-wall carpeting. Two Queen Anne chairs were arranged at a small round table in front of expansive windows. To my right a long dresser rested against the wall, a small flat panel television on it. An open doorway led to a dark bathroom.

Small personal picture frames were haphazardly placed on every flat surface, all family pictures; although, I saw none of Alia with her husband Jerry.

Alia dropped my hand and turned, a gentle smile emerging that made her look so pretty. She approached. In the middle of the room, she rose onto her tiptoes, sliding her arms around me, her hands on my shoulder blades. We kissed. It was a soft kiss that evolved, pressure growing, then the tip of her tongue tasting my lips.

That dizziness that comes with sudden desire washed through me. As our tongues touched, tasted, and explored, Alia pressed against the erection forming in my pants. My hands dropped to her ass. Once again, I was reminded of what I'd missed in the last eight years. Her soft cashmere skirt glided on a silky slip. I caressed her remarkable rear, the contours, the sexy swell of her buttocks, the pear shape of perfection. Our kiss deepened. Alia ground her pelvis against me, our tongues probing, pressing into each other's mouth. She ended the kiss by biting my lower lip.

"Mmmm. You can kiss," she murmured. "Do you do everything that well?"

Before I could assure her that I did, she stepped away, smiled, and with a twinkle in her deep ebony eyes, said, "According to the instructions, you're supposed to undress me at this point."

"More advice from the girls?" I asked.

She nodded, still smiling softly with amusement.

A thrill of anticipation hit me. I adored undressing women. It was such an erotic adventure, especially the first time. Rarely did their bodies match my preconceived notions, always surprising and delighting. Seeing a woman change, from unknown when dressed, to sexy in lingerie, to finally pure beauty when naked, was a journey too many rushed through.

Petite and slender, Alia oozed class, a dark exotic class. Moving closer, I brought my hand up and gently cupped her breast over her blouse. While small, it filled my hand and had heft to it. I caressed lightly, Alia's eyes softening.

ALIA FELT HER BREASTS respond to Philip's gentle touch. She studied him. Slight crinkles gathered at the outside edges of his eyes as he smiled. Her nipples stiffened, areolae puckering at his touch. He was such a gentle man.

She wondered what making love to him would be like? Soft, slow and loving? Hard and exhausting? How big was he? She'd felt the bulge of his erection but it was hard to judge.

Watching him carefully, as he opened each button of her blouse then gently tugging it out of the waist of her skirt, she felt the stir of excitement, that tingle of arousal at the prospect of intimacy with a man. It had been so long a wait, six years too long.

The blouse fell from her arms. Philip stared at her pastel peach lace bra. She smiled to herself when his hand trembled slightly as he reached behind her to unhook her skirt. It fell.

His sharp gasp pleased her.

"Jesus, Alia. Did my daughter . . ."

Alia laughed. Sia had been very specific. Lacy bra, dark stockings and garter and, surprising Alia, gossamer full cut panties she'd normally associate with her own mother. The pastel peach material was thin and translucent, showing the dark shadow of her pubic bush, the gusset double lined. When she'd checked herself in the mirror she'd seen her butt-crack, too. She had to admit the panties were sexy, in an odd way, and they sure felt wonderful to wear.

Philip moved close, wrapping his arms around her. He smiled. "What else did those two plan?"

"The instructions specified I was to undress you next. Fortunately, Sia and Jasmin kindly left the rest up to our best judgment."

Philip's hand caressing her ass felt wonderful. She realized with a shock that she'd been expecting a hard, painful grope, the only thing her husband had known to do. Philip was behaving as if he adored her, cherished her, and was being given a gift. How strange and wonderful was that?

Rising to her tiptoes, she kissed him, sighing with pleasure. Boy could he kiss.

"My turn," she announced easing away from him.

Tugging the Polo shirt from his waist, she drew it up, studying his body. Philip was slender, fit, but not toned like an athlete; more like someone who worked hard, took care of himself, and was active in life. His stomach was flat with a delicious trail of soft baby hair running in a line from his navel to disappear into the top of his pants. As she drew the shirt higher his chest emerged, soft hair spreading thinly from nipple to nipple. With his arms raised, she paused and kissed his nipple, inhaling his scent; peppery and woodsy, and intensely male. She liked the intensity in his dark hazel eyes when she dropped his shirt to the floor.

Brushing her hands over his chest, she smiled to herself remembering Sia's enthusiasm. She opened his belt and toyed her fingertips inside the waist. Looking at him, she opened his pant button and unzipped him. Moving closer, she eased her hand inside, under the waist of his boxers, an exciting tickle washing through her. She saw the excitement in his eyes. Fishing down, she touched his erection. A throb of excitement hit her pussy. With her fingers, she straightened him and gently held his shaft. Another stronger wave of arousal hit her. He was thick, warm, and so hard. It pulsed when she squeezed.

"Jesus. You're killing me, Alia," Philip groaned.

"Your daughter was right. Feeling you inside your pants is very, very exciting." She felt his response.

Shoving his pants and boxers down, she moved into him, one hand returning to gently stroke his cock. She rose and kissed him lightly, a brush, a tease. "Why don't you get in bed? I'll be right back."

I WATCHED THE SENSUAL sway of Alia's ass as she walked to the bathroom. She was an ebony Goddess. My cock throbbed at her sexy ass crack showing through those full-cut, pastel peach, gossamer panties, the lower part hidden by a double gusset. Alia had a gorgeous, world-class ass. She walked with a sexy sway, buttocks moving in perfect counterpoint.

What was she doing? I slipped into her bed, soft sheets cool against my naked body. A couple of minutes later Alia emerged sans garter and stockings, walking with that same sexy motion. I loved the shadow of her pubic bush and how the gusset of her panties hugged her vulva, a rounded mound between her legs.

Alia moved into my arms when I rolled towards her, pulling the quilt over her. We kissed slowly, seductively. I found the clasp of her bra and unhooked it. Rolling onto her back, Alia removed it. I leaned over her. Her breasts were full but not large. The areolae were almost black, her nipples large, firm, succulent. Bending, I took one into my mouth and suckled, tasting a trace of saltiness. Cupping a breast, I felt the heft of motherhood, yet still firm, a perfect handful.

She pulled me, our lips touching as my hand trailed down her body, feeling the slight sensual feminine swell below her navel. My hand touched gossamer panties and slipped down to cup her, the springiness of her pubic bush pressing against my palm. Alia moaned almost silently when I squeezed her pussy, pressing up into my hand, her own hand finding my erection, holding it, her thumb caressing the tip. I throbbed from the gentle stimulation.

Our kiss intensified, tongues playing, mouths opening. With a finger, I eased her panties over one hip. She rolled onto her back and raised her hips to let me ease the other side down, and finally I was touching her; silky soft pubes, a beautiful mons, warmth below. Probing gently, I discovered moisture and her clitoris, exciting, arousing.

No words had been spoken. But, with hand movements, caresses, and kisses, we knew. Her hand pulled my hip. Her knee dug under me. I rolled on top of her. Alia held my cock, guiding me, rubbing the tip up and down her cleft.

We kissed again. I caressed her breast. Suddenly, moist warmth greeted me, my tip pressing, her labia hugging. I eased forward and Alia gasped quietly. With small movements, I penetrated her, my erection slowly enveloped by a silken moist sheath. Slowly, very slowly, Alia took me in, fully, her pubic hair pressing against mine. She felt wonderful, sexy, and exotic. Her thighs cradled my hips, her soles caressing my calves. For a few moments we didn't move, just relishing this most intimate connection. She smiled, finally speaking.

"Lord I've missed this," Alia sighed. "It's been far too long. And you feel so good inside me."

My erection flexed. She smiled and tightened her pussy, an exquisite clench. Lowering my full weight on her, we kissed again, her arms wrapping around me, her breasts pressed to my chest. She moved. I moved, withdrawing slowly, reversing; so erotic. Her hands caressed my back, hips turning to press her pussy at me, taking me deep. I withdrew slowly and reversed, loving the sensation of penetrating her. It was sensual and sexy and exciting. Moving together we fucked slowly, each exploring the intimacy with a new partner gently and attuned to small nuances; a deep inhalation, a silent sigh, a small clench, a tremor. We fucked languidly, my excitement building.

Our kisses broke with Alia's deep groan of pleasure. I buried my face against her neck inhaling her scent, fucking her slowly, my cock pulsing, thick, her pussy so silken and snug. This was long and pleasurable loving, or so I thought. But no.

With a quiet gasp, "Philip," Alia climaxed, her pussy contracting, hips pressing up at me. She moaned, her body undulating underneath me, her vagina milking me. I felt every wave of pleasure in her, every pulse of ecstasy, such a gentle, intense climax.

I was still rigid when she slowed, her body relaxing. Rising to look at her, she smiled, almost embarrassed.

"Sorry," she said, "I couldn't control myself. It's been too long; so long I'd forgotten how incredible it is."

"I have no complaints," I assured her.

She smiled again and with a tight clench of her pussy, my erection pulsing deep inside her, she said, "That was a great appetizer. I think I'm ready for the main course. Roll."

We rolled. Alia rose, straddling me, her knees at my hips. In this position, I could truly enjoy her naked beauty. While slender, she had sexy curves. Her breasts rode proudly on her chest, rounded underneath, sloping on top. Her black areolae and large prominent nipples looked stunning. I had a momentary desire to chew one lightly. Upright, I could see the gentle swell below her navel; extremely feminine and sensual. But, the part that had my blood pressure increasing was Alia's pubes. They were jet black, almost glossy, silken and curled. She had a full bush as neatly tended as her garden so I could see how her labia parted, the dark hood of her clitoris, and pink inside where my erection stretched her cleft disappearing into her. Alia had a stunning body.

ALIA SETTLED SLIGHLY MORE astride Philip's body. She liked his lankiness and loved how full she felt. Philip's erection stretched her, thick and arousing. It penetrated her deeply, a perfect fit, touching an ache deep inside her, gently pressed against her end. His cock was straight, the head flared, and being fucked slowly, feeling every inch of him, had brought on an uncontrollable climax.

She smiled softly when Philip reached up to palm her breasts, his touch so sensuous. He handled her with such awe, making him so much more desirable. She shuddered when he tweaked her nipples, arousal stealing back at her.

Leaning into his hands, she rotated herself, rubbing his cock deep inside, and smiled again at the heat in his dark hazel eyes. Rising slightly, she let herself down, full again, pussy pulsing. God she'd missed this. Rising again, a bit higher until she felt empty, she dropped down, a stab of arousal at being so full, so stretched, so incredible. Slowly, she started fucking Philip, loving how his hands fondling her breasts became firmer, his tweaks of her nipples, almost little pinches, sending electric sparks to her pussy.

She fucked Philip harder, faster, rising and plunging down, impaling herself on his beautiful erection. Bending, arms supporting herself, she offered her breast to his mouth, shuddering when he kissed her nipple, opened his mouth, sucked her nipple hard, and took more of her breast in.

A wave of passion washed through her, pussy aching, pulsing, hot. She fucked him with long strokes, suddenly feeling the first tendrils of a second climax; a tensing sensation, pressure, muscles tightening, moisture flowing, heart beating harder, faster. She fucked Philip faster, now driven by her own need, hoping she could last, give him release.

Just as she gave up hope, hips thrusting hard, butt slapping down onto him, pleasure building to a crescendo, he gasped, grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, fucking her hard and fast. His eyes grew intense, looking at her in the eyes, and as they closed, as he groaned, "Alia," she felt it.

Philip's cock swelled inside her, thickening even more. He thrust deep and hard, the tip hitting her end. A pulse. His cock jerked and she felt a flood of hot wetness inside. With a deep moan, Alia let herself go, collapsing onto him, her pussy convulsing as she came, body humping, pleasure hitting her in intense waves, his cock spurting into her, warm wetness flooding her. She came in a crash of bliss, fucking him, fucking him, ecstasy found.

Silence filled the bedroom, the loudest sound in her ears was her heart racing. Her breath returned as she lay on him, her breasts pressed to his chest. Through them, she could feel his heavy breathing. His hands caressed her back and ass lightly. In her pussy his erection waned, still thick but softening. When she squeezed her pussy, it slipped out. She was too wet, too filled with his semen. A warm river trickled down over her clit. With a sigh, she slipped off him.

"Lordy, that was intense," he said softly.

"No kidding. I can't remember the last time I came twice in one go."

He reached out and pulled her close, his arm around her. They kissed, soft and sweet, a satisfied lover's kiss. Post-orgasmic bliss relaxed her body. She felt like liquid, sated, her body at peace.

"Is it different?" he asked, out of the blue.

"Is what different?"

"Is your climax different with me than with what you experience with Jasmin? I don't mean to invade your privacy."

Alia smiled. "You just have questions?'

He chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. "A habit I picked up from Sia."

Alia rubbed the soft hair on his chest. "She has to have one of the most inquiring minds I've ever come across. One day she'll be a scientist, or famous journalist."

"One can only hope. So, is it different?"

Alia thought about it. Her climaxes with Philip were different. "Yes."

"Can I ask how?"

"Given how intimate we've just been, and assuming you're not going to dump me now you've gotten you jollies . . ."

He laughed, tightening his arm. "Not yet. Maybe after next time. I need another test to make an informed decision."

"Men," she said with mock outrage. "I'll have to reconsider more sex with you. As for different, yes. My climaxes with you were different."

"Care to elucidate?"

"Hmmm. Well, with you, my climaxes are complete and sating, and intense. There's a sexiness mixed with pure pleasure. My attraction to you enhances the pleasure. With Jasmin, my climaxes are exciting and titillating. I think it's because I've discovered how arousing I find incest. I never knew it before, but it just turns me on. I wish I could explain, but I can't. I never experienced it in my youth. It's just . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"I know how you feel. I feel the same way. At first, I thought it was Sia's youth that drove me wild with desire, sort of a raw, uncontrollable need. But, it isn't. It's the fact that Sia's my daughter and she wants me," Philip said.

Alia smiled. With every revelation and growing intimacy, Philip was becoming more attractive. It felt right being with him.

I WOKE SLOWLY TO the sound of gentle breathing. Spring sunshine streamed through the big windows. My body was rested, feeling soft, the bed comfortable. Glancing to my side, I admired Alia, sound asleep on her front, such a beautiful woman. The quilt had slipped down exposing her slender back, her dark skin glowing.

Turning onto my side, I caressed her silky skin, warm and alive under my palm, and admired her. My hand caressed lower, slipping under the quilt to her incredible ass. Her buttocks were spectacular, each ebony cheek rounded and firm, just slightly cooler than her back. They formed a deep sensual valley. Alia was graced with a perfect pear-shaped rear, curvaceous yet compact; a perfect fit for her body.

She stirred and rocked her ass. Leaning in, I kissed her. "Morning."

"Mmmm," she murmured, my hand fondling her butt. Exotic eyes opened. She smiled at me. "It's Sunday; my favorite day of the week." A glint appeared in her eyes. "Do you have intentions, Sir?" she asked with a smile and suggestive butt roll.

I wondered at my visceral response to fondling a female posterior. It didn't matter how sexually satisfied I was, I'd inevitably feel a stir of arousal.

"I do."

Rolling and sitting up, her breasts moving seductively, gorgeous dark areolae and nipples, she kissed me quickly. "I need to visit the bathroom."

She left the bed and I admired the view, damned gorgeous buttocks moving so sensually. An erection formed. As she returned, completely comfortable in her own skin, a naked ebony goddess, I mentioned, "You have one of the finest asses I've ever set eyes on."

She smiled, sliding into bed, lying on her front, arms crossed under the pillow. "That statement raises several interesting questions, like, just how many asses have you set your eyes upon? And 'One of the finest'? Which ass ranks up there with mine?"

"What I meant is, it's spectacular. Do you work out to keep in such great shape?" I asked trying to change directions.

"I garden and take long hikes through the forest with Jasmin. She's not into team sports so it's the only exercise she gets." She smiled. "And don't change the subject, Buster. You were about to address the deep hole you just dug yourself into."

I caressed her ass.

"That won't work either. Fess up," she ordered.

Laughing, I caved. "Right now, in my humble opinion, you have the world's greatest ass."

Alia laughed. "I thought you had intentions, Sir." She rolled her butt.

Bending down, I kissed her buttock, sliding my hand up the inside of her thigh to cup her pussy from behind. My middle finger found her clit and rubbed. I kissed her other buttock.

Alia sighed contentedly. "I like your intentions."

Slowly, Alia's pussy grew moist. She moved her butt and, when my finger found the warm, slippery entrance to her and slid in, she turned her face into the pillow, humping my finger, ebony buttocks flexing slightly.

Suddenly she rolled over, grabbed my wrist and pulled, her legs parting, knees rising.

"Damn, you make me horny, Philip."

Pulling me onto her, she reached between us, fumbling, smiling slightly when she discovered my erection. She guided me in. I penetrated her in one stroke.

"Oh God, that feels good," she murmured, grabbing my ass with both hands.

It did. It felt fantastic, her pussy snugly gripping me, warm and moist and sexy. There was no subtle seduction, slow teasing. I withdrew from her once and her hands tugged me back, firmly, deep, my cock wrapped in a velvet hug.

We started fucking, hard, the sound of moist slaps accompanying panting breath, cock hard, throbbing. Alia shoved her pussy up at me, her arms hugging me tightly, no kissing; pure, raw sexual desire. We fucked each other faster, pleasure flowing through me, cock straining. Then Alia took me over the edge.

"Oh good Lord. Cum with me," she moaned. Her body heaved, pussy clenched, fingers digging into my buttocks. She gasped, legs rising to wrap around my waist.

With a fury, my cock swelled and jerked. I came, semen erupting, fucking her hard, pulsing, semen spurting, sweet ecstasy pouring through me. With gasps and grunts, I came with Alia, semen released, bliss, sweet bliss.

As we caught our breath, Alia sighed with satisfaction. "Boy, do I love Sundays."

I was beginning to rethink my position on hating Sundays. Maybe they weren't that bad.

Chapter Twenty-one

Life is never without bumps in the road. I was reminded of this when picking up Sia from her sleepover. Outwardly bubbly, and peppering me with questions about how my date with Mrs. Sanderson had gone, trying to interrogate me for details I wouldn't reveal, I noticed her eyes. Sia could hide nothing from me and those mismatched eyes were troubled.

Knowing from experience not to press, I waited patiently for her to mull, let her thoughts ferment until she couldn't remain silent. I wasn't disappointed.

While watching television on Sunday night, Sia suddenly asked, "Did you like being with Mrs. Sanderson more than being with me?"

Her question should not have caught me by surprise, given her endorsement of the relationship. But, I'd forgotten Sia was a thirteen-year-old. Mentally mature, she was still a young girl with insecurities, jealousies; feelings intensified by hormones, puberty. I wasn't going to set off a competition between Sia and Alia. That would bring nothing but grief.

Glancing at her, noticing how she was looking at the television and not at me, a sure sign the question was serious, I spoke. "Do you like strawberry ice cream more than mint chocolate chip?"

"Yeah."

Well that didn't work. I tried another analogy. "Do you like your iPhone better than your clothes."

"No." She glanced at me. "Dad, why not just tell me what you're trying to say? I'm not stupid."

Clearly not. "All right. What I was trying to say is that sometimes you can like two different things equally as much. They're just different. That's how I feel about being with you and Mrs. Sanderson."

"Okay."

That was that. Subject closed. But, that night, Sia arrived in bed wearing a soft pink nightshirt. She cuddled close. As I kissed her, I recognized something else. My daughter was insecure and wanted to be desired, wanted me to want her, work for her; her way of reinforcing her appeal to me. She wanted to be pursued, loved, cherished, and assert her ownership of me, something she'd ceded only temporarily to Alia.

I knew it beyond a doubt when she responded to my caress, when I discovered she was naked under the nightshirt, when I explored, and murmured how much I loved her. She snuggled close and inundated me with adoring sighs of delight, my love growing even stronger. Making love to Sia was slow and gentle, a delicate penetration, soft thrusts, her pussy gripping me so tightly. She murmured, her kisses sweet and soft, loving, not passion-inflamed. And Sia's climax was wonderful, a soft groan in my ear, a whisper, "Daddy," a slender body shuddering in ecstasy, her arms hugging, her pussy tightly milking me with every wave of bliss. My orgasm was soft, too. My erection swelled and, to the sounds of my sweet girl climaxing, my cock pulsed, semen spurting, beautiful release. I came gently, fucking Sia slowly, relishing every pulse of cum, every wave of pleasure, every sexy sound from her. I came completely and, when we relaxed in that magical post-orgasmic peace, I was still inside her. I was still inside her when we fell asleep.

For the next couple of months life settled. The deceptive bastard that life is, I was lulled: busy with work and Sia's outside interests; at the vagaries of a teenage girl's sexual rhythms; and, occasionally, dating Alia. Spring was being displaced by early summer, heat slowly building, nature blossoming, flourishing.

May was a deceptive month. A roller coaster month.

On a mundane Tuesday morning Sia emerged, dressed for school, and complained she didn't feel well. That night she was snarky and short tempered, showing impatience at my jibes. The next morning she announced she'd gotten her menses, her first period.

Over breakfast, glued to her iPhone, she asked, "Can I get the pill?"

"If you want to," I answered, impressed by my daughter's sense of responsibility. But no. Not my Sia.

"It says here," she said, studying her iPhone, "that taking the pill makes your boobs bigger. I'd like that."

"I'll take you to the doctor this Friday," I said, shaking my head.

Sia had informed me she was less than satisfied with the growth of her breasts, despite my whole-hearted endorsement of them and my oral adoration of said sexy mounds. While over the last three months she'd sprouted a remarkably sexy little pubic bush - a light coating of soft straight pubes that dusted the top of her cleft and edges of her labia, a very, very sexy sight - her breasts had stagnated. I didn't want to discourage her excitement over taking the pill, but her mother had suffered from small breasts, which had not responded to the pill. Only pregnancy had given her what she'd wanted, real tits.

Friday night, as Alia and I sat at a small table in Claudia's, a Bistro in Montgomery, on one of our dates, I told her about Sia's latest news.

Alia smiled. "I remember getting my period. Menses is a significant event. It changes everything. Having periods made me feel like a young woman, not a young girl, so grown-up. I won't have to worry about that."

"Why not?" I inquired, sipping a glass of house red wine. "By the by, I know a gentleman should never ask a lady, but . . . how old are you?"

"Thirty-two."

"That means you had Jasmin . . ."

Alia interrupted, "When I was young."

Grinning, I nodded. "So, how can you have menopause? You're way too young."

Alia glanced down at her plate and back up, her dark exotic eyes studying me intently. "I'm not sure there's a delicate way to put this, Philip . . ."

"No," I gasped quietly, leaning forward. "You're . . .?"

Alia nodded. She touched the back of my hand. "Eight weeks. I'm so sorry. It seems birth control isn't one hundred percent guaranteed."

Around us, the quiet chatter of other small groups filled the silence between us. I took a large sip of wine, studying Alia. No wonder she glowed. Still . . . pregnant?

Was it my right to judge or demand? Was it my right to influence her?

Reaching across the small round table, I took her cold hand in mine giving it a squeeze.

"So have you decided what you want to do?"

"I was going to ask you what you'd prefer," she replied.

"It's not my body, Alia. It's your choice. Whatever you decide, I'll support you."

She smiled slightly. "If it was your decision, what would you do?"

My immediate reaction was abort the baby. How would Alia find the strength and time to handle a child? Selfishly, raising Sia had been a full-time preoccupation. But . . .

I thought of Sia; the charm of her as a child, her cuteness, the endless light she brought into my life, her discovery of the world and the gift she'd given me - to rediscover the wonders of life through her eyes, the love she gave me, the frustration, the angst at times. Having Sia made me feel alive. She was everything.

Her stocking foot rubbed my leg under the table. "Penny for your thoughts?"

I saw the hope in Alia's deep dark eyes.

With a soft squeeze of Alia's hand, I answered, "I think we'd make a beautiful baby."

Alia's eyes teared up, glistening, despite her pleased smile. "I was hoping you'd say that, Philip, because I think so too."

Alia glowed with happiness. We talked about the inevitable shock to our small, somewhat conservative town and debated keeping it a secret. We completely agreed we should tell the holy terrors together. Then, I suggested we could get married.

Alia shook her head. "I've been there once and it was more than enough. But if you're worried about . . ."

I shut her up with a kiss. "I'm not." Glancing at my watch, I added, "Perhaps we should go and face our daughters tonight. No. Wait. Can we hold off until Sia's finished her period?"

Alia laughed. "Coward! Let's go."

On the drive home, a thought struck me. "I'm a bit worried now. Sia's on the pill. If you can get pregnant while taking the pill, I don't want to risk it with her. Is there a safer method of birth control?"

"I wasn't on the pill, Philip. I was using a cervical cap. I think you can relax with Sia."

Huh. So that's why she disappeared into the bathroom so often.

Alia seemed excited about announcing her condition. I felt not quite excitement but something more akin to trepidation.

It didn't go as badly as I thought it might. Alia had the girls sit on the couch - after clearing up their mess and turning the music down - and made her announcement.

Two girls squealed with delight, jumped up and swarmed Alia. Clearly, I had little or no role in the celebration, despite having contributed to Alia's condition.

Eventually, Jasmin came over and gave me a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you two," she said, adding, "Are you and Mom getting married?" Her exotic oval eyes lit up. "You'll be my dad!"

"Jasmin!" Alia said.

Jasmin just grinned at me, not affected in the least by her mother's objection.

Sia looked at me and smiled. She came over and hugged me, her face pressed to my chest. "I'm happy for you, Dad."

But she wasn't. Uncertainty shadowed her eyes.

We agreed to a celebration dinner the next night, Saturday. We'd go out: Tex-Mex Bar and Grill here we come.

In bed, Sia cuddled. She seemed satisfied with a couple of soft kisses. I waited. Nothing.

Saturday passed, my daughter outwardly happy, but I knew her too well. This time it was taking her longer to process whatever was troubling her. I had a feeling I knew what it was, but had to wait her out.

Saturday dinner was a riot. Sia and Jasmin were full of stories about friends and school, jesting with each other as they consumed Kansas City dry rub ribs. Sia had been her usual self, carefully sniffing the ribs before smiling and nodding her approval, only to wrinkle her nose at the ketchup she'd poured for her fries. "This smells hinky." Glancing at the label, she'd frowned. "Hunts isn't ketchup!" She'd pestered the waitress for real ketchup and promptly ignored her fries when Heinz wasn't available.

I tasted the ketchup and it seemed to smell and taste like . . . ketchup.

At one point they launched into a detailed analysis of how to unfriend friends, some strange ritual that involved much discussion, an assessment of the severity of the unfriending needed, and the expected outcome and impact with their friends. Apparently, it was also dicey if you wanted to refriend an unfriend.

Somewhat confused, I asked, "Does this have to do with Facepage?"

Jasmin giggled. Alia watched with a smile playing across her lips.

Sia groaned. "Dad, it's FaceBOOK, not FacePAGE. You're so clueless!"

I tossed my bread roll at her, grinning. She shrieked and threw it back at me. Alia looked shocked at our behavior, a disapproving frown emerging when I threw the bread roll at a giggling Jasmin.

"Jasmin!" Alia exclaimed when her daughter hit my chest with the crumbling roll.

A minor skirmish broke out. Even Alia was hit. Laughter was loud and raucous until the manager came over to ask if the food wasn't satisfactory. We weren't evicted from the Tex-Mex Bar and Grill, but it was close.

On the way to drop us off at home, Alia driving, she glanced across at me and asked, "How did Sia grow up to be so normal being around you?"

I shrugged and grinned.

Sia's brief effervescence faded at home. She sat quietly at the end of the couch, weakly responding to my foot nudges. In bed, she cuddled, distracted. This was now at the point where I had to intervene.

Kissing her forehead, I asked, "What's bothering you, honey?"

"Nothing."

"Then tell me what's not bothering you."

Minutes of silence followed. The television cast the only light in the room. She sighed.

"Will you love me less?"

I'd thought that was what was bothering her. Rational reasoning would never overcome emotions and I understood her worry; sharing my affection with a brother or sister, after a lifetime of my undivided love, was understandable.

"The heart is a strange thing," I said rubbing her back. "It has the ability to expand limitlessly. Just like you love me, and love the memory of your mother, you've grown to love Jasmin. Do you love me less because of Jasmin? I doubt it."

I continued. "You'll always have the biggest part of my heart, honey. I can't control it. I'll love you more than anyone else until the day I die. That's just the way it is, Sia."

"Kay," she whispered, cuddling to me.

By Monday, Sia was back to her usual mischievous self. She greeted me with a hug and kiss, wearing a white blouse combined with some tartan skirt that only managed to meet the top of her slender thighs.

"You didn't go to school dressed like that, did you?"

"Yeah. Why?" she responded looking puzzled.

"Isn't the skirt a bit short?"

"It's the fashion," she advised me. "Hurry and change. I'm hungry."

As I prepared dinner, Sia sat at the kitchen table regaling me with gossip and events at school. "You should have seen Jim Prentice's face when Peggy slapped him! Serves him right for trying to feel her up in the cafeteria. And Lara has broken up with Bill. Now she's in love with Greg. But Greg likes Sarah and Sarah doesn't know that Greg likes her, so, we're gonna tell Mike."

Once again bewildered by Sia's stream of thought, I glanced at her over my shoulder to ask her to explain. The thought vanished like a wisp of smoke in a gale. Sia, sitting sideways on the kitchen chair, peeling a Clementine, was fidgeting with energy. That short tartan skirt couldn't hide her baby blue cotton panties. They were tight, forming to a pudgy pussy, the elastic deep at the sides. Soft cotton dipped, outlining her sexy cleft. As she moved her legs together and apart, her pussy oozed between her thighs, a seductive bulge, mounded and erotic. Sia didn't appear to be conscious of her display and that made it even more erotic; an illicit glimpse of the forbidden. An erection formed. Damn but she was a sexy thing.

By the evening, Sia was back to her end of the couch, freshly showered, hair damp, wearing a blueberry colored nightshirt, with the TV remote in her hand. I was hard, having suffered through two hours of panty flashes.

With a shove of her foot and a cute grin, she said, "Hey, Dad! Look! A documentary called Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D."

She continued to bug me, feet shoving or jostling me with a steam of comments, each zanier than the last, full of beans, and wonderful to watch.

Despite my pretend annoyance she continued, adding commentary on electronics, "Look, Dad! A flat panel display. That's like, a TV for computers!"

"Stop or I'll take revenge," I threatened. She just giggled and continued. "I mean it," I added, with no success.

Sia laughed. "What's the matter?"

"I'm damned horny," I informed her.

"How come?" And showing me how Machiavellian she really was, she added, "Did my panties turn you on?"

Have mercy!

"Aw. Poor Daddy." I didn't buy her fake look of sympathy at all. "Can I help?"

Rising, she came to me kneeling astride my lap, giving me another peek of her baby blue panties cosseting a chubby pussy. She felt my crotch, smiling at the obvious lump. "Maybe I can help you," she said with a gleam in her mismatched eyes.

Her hands unbuttoned my pants, opened the zip, tugged up the waist of my boxers, and she fished inside, successfully finding my erection, distracting me from her panties. She wrestled a bit and brought my erection out, stroking it slightly.

"Look at you," she said with a pleased smile. "You're all horny and everything."

"No kidding."

Edging my pants and boxers down slightly, she shuffled up, slowly lowering her panty-covered pussy to my shaft, her pussy bulging as she settled down. Fuck, it was erotic. I reached for her hips.

"Nuh-uh. Just sit still and let me."

With a slow hunch, Sia scrubbed her pussy up my shaft, the panties pulled back, her pussy pooching out and pressing against soft cotton making it look even pudgier. She reversed, panties collecting in front as she rubbed down my shaft, the crown of my erection rising off my stomach slightly. It was absurdly erotic; baby blue panties suitable to a very young girl rubbing an adult erection. It made my cock seem so damned large.

With slow motions, Sia rubbed her crotch up and down, up and down, my eye locked to the sensual play of her pussy. Then she added pressure. I groaned. Her panty-clad pussy seemed to spread, partially hugging my shaft.

"How do you like it so far?" she asked.

"Jeeezus."

With a bright, mischievous laugh, Sia humped me, my crown rising, pussy pooching, soft cotton caressing me. A bead of clear precum emerged and dripped down the tip to rub against my stomach. If I thought it couldn't get any better, I was severely wrong. Sia slipped her hand under my cock and pressed it up against her cleft, aligned with the crease in her crotch. Precum flowed. My erection strained. She spread precum with her hand along the shaft and, releasing me, started moving in circles on my shaft. Now slippery precum made me slide smoothly against my stomach, adding to the sensations bombarding me.

"Let me know when you're about to cum," Sia told me.

She changed back into a fucking stroke, up and down, my erection straining, eyes locked on the sight of her small pussy changing shape; bulging out against tight cotton, camel toe forming, then panties collecting in a wad as she moved back, the return of her pussy stroking up to my crown, back again. Fuck, it was damned erotic.

She whispered, "Wow. This feels good. Are you close to cumming, Daddy?"

Why? Why did her calling me "Daddy" stir such a surge of arousal? My cock swelled dangerously. I nodded, heart beating fast, breathing fast, my eyes still riveted by the sight, so damned sexy.

If I thought my sexy little girl was done, I was wrong, yet again. Sia reached down, took my thick erection, stretched the leg elastic of her panties open and guided me inside. Suddenly, there I was, a large erection filling little cotton panties. It was outrageous. It was scary sexy; an adult cock moving inside baby blue panties, clearly outlined as Sia rocked back and forth. A damp spot formed, precum leaking. I felt her naked pussy against my erection. A wave of arousal hit; the prelude surge to an orgasm.

Sia cupped the bottom of her pussy and base of my shaft pulling me against her. "Okay. You can cum now, Daddy."

Fuck!

I came with a gasp, a pulse of pleasure, cock swelling, and semen spurting into her panties, a dark blue spot forming. Another harder pulse hit me, a surge of bliss, and I came hard, semen jetting into her panties, the dark spot spreading as she humped me. I came again, semen erupting, pleasure thrumming through me, my eyes locked on the incredible sight of a large erection spurting inside such innocent-looking cotton. The power of my orgasm took control. With my heart racing, blood pounding, I came hard, spurting into my little girl's panties, cumming, semen stain spreading, my daughter cupping my shaft. Wave after wave of ecstasy hit, my climax never-ending until it released me suddenly, a last burst of bliss, cock pulsing slowly, slower, slower, calm descending.

Finally, I looked up at my daughter. Her head was bent, studying her panties and my cock. She glanced at me and smiled.

"That was amazing. I felt you cum. It's really warm." She rubbed my softening erection and the wet semen stain, spreading it. "I like seeing you cum, Dad. Your eyes go sorta crossed."

Jesus. Would she ever stop surprising me?

Chapter Twenty-two

ALIA SAT AT THE kitchen island counter and studied the Kelsey's portfolio. She debated moving some of their investment into high-tech stocks. Apple and Netflix still had legs. Cisco was about to report strong earnings. The industrials were struggling. Still, was it right? The Kelsey's were five years from retirement. Risk should be minimized at this stage of their lives. Maybe reinvest eight percent into tech stocks with a short-term plan. Yes. That would work. She'd call them tomorrow.

"Mom?"

Glancing up from the papers spread on the counter, and closing her laptop, she smiled. "What's up, sweetheart?" she asked, drawing Jasmin to her side, caressing her long, long tight wavy hair, so silky.

"I want to talk."

"Pull up a stool and let's talk. Do you want some tea? I'm making myself some."

"No thanks. Maybe a Coke?"

While Alia busied herself filling the kettle, she encouraged Jasmin. "I'm all ears."

"What's it like being with Philip?"

Alia found a cup and saucer, pulled a Coke from the fridge and passed it over the counter to her daughter. "It's fun and easy, and entertaining. He's an intelligent and funny guy. You've probably noticed." She found a bag of green tea and dropped it into the teacup.

"That wasn't what I meant. I mean, what's it like being in bed with him? You know, sex."

Alia turned and studied Jasmin. This was a major breakthrough. For her daughter to even be thinking about sex with a male was major progress. She'd need to be careful. "Sex, when it's not abusive, is wonderful. But, sex with someone you like is even better. When the other partner is kind and considerate and pays attention to your needs, then sex is amazing, the best feeling in the world. What brought this on, sweetheart?

Jasmin fiddled with her can of Coke, glancing down before meeting her mother's eyes. "I've been thinking . . ."

"About what?"

"Well, it's like Sia seems so happy and you, well, you sing when you think you're on your own. I've heard you. You never used to sing. You're so happy, too. And . . . well . . ."

Alia smiled softly. "You want to feel that way?"

Jasmin nodded, her eyes looking at her finger as she traced swirls of pink in the granite countertop.

Alia asked, "Have you been thinking about Philip?"

Jasmin nodded. "It's not like I'm jealous," she said.

"But you want to try making love with a man, right?"

"If it makes you and Sia feel so good, I thought, maybe, it might . . . I might like it, too. Do you think I would?"

Alia moved around the counter. "Oh, Jasmin, honey," she said softy wrapping her daughter in her arms. "I'm sure you'd enjoy it. But it doesn't need to be Philip. There are a lot of considerate young guys out there. It is always better if the guy turns you on, makes your heart race, and gives you butterflies in your stomach."

Jasmin leaned her head onto her mother's shoulder. "He makes you so happy. Sia adores him. And he's the only guy I've ever felt comfortable around. Did you know he kissed my cheek? And his hugs, Mom his hugs are so good. He smells good, too." She paused then continued. "Maybe there's someone else out there, but I'm too scared to take a chance. I could pick the wrong guy and make things worse. I know Philip like he's my own dad. I see how he behaves with me, and have you ever seen kinder eyes?"

As her mother hugged her, Jasmin said softly, "I don't want to mess up anything you've got with him, Mom. I can wait."

Alia thought just the opposite. For six long years she'd worried Jasmin would never recover from the abuse she'd been subjected to. In her mind, she couldn't have picked a better person to introduce Jasmin to the real pleasure of sex, of making love, of the wondrous climaxes that felt so different compared to self pleasure.

Would Philip consider it? Of course he would. Alia smiled to herself. She wasn't in the least surprised by Jasmin's request. In fact, Philip was the perfect person for her; no emotional disappointment when an affair ended, no embarrassment, none of the nervousness of the unknown – Jasmin knew Philip and had seen the impact he'd had on Sia and herself. He was perfect.

"I think Philip will be thrilled to hear you are interested. I'm thrilled for you, sweetheart." Giving Jasmin a kiss on her forehead, she asked, "Would you like me to ask him?"

"No, Mom. I think I'd like to ask him . . . as long as you're sure he won't say no. I don't think I could handle that."

"Don't worry. In his own way he loves you, too."

Alia decided a word with Philip would be in order. She didn't want to risk anything that might hurt Jasmin's first tentative interest in intimacy with the opposite sex.

I LISTENED TO ALIA explain it to me. I understood every word. I understood her feelings and how important it was to both her and Jasmin. I got it. And, I couldn't deny the excitement it brought, the thought of making love to Jasmin, a smaller, younger ebony goddess just like her mother.

But, as we sipped coffee at Benny's Diner, the red vinyl booth giving us some privacy, I tried to understand how I'd arrived at this position. Having an energetic daughter as a lover was one thing. Adding an occasional lover, in Alia, had been harder to manage. Sure, I thought I had the stamina of a bull, but three lovers? It wasn't just physically questionable, either. No. It was the emotional complications I couldn't wrap my brain around.

"Earth to Philip," Alia said with a smile, rubbing her foot on my leg under the table. "How was the trip?"

I grinned. "Long and convoluted."

"So talk."

"I didn't tell you about Sia's reaction to you and me being involved or how she reacted to the news of your pregnancy."

"You mean her need to be desired, too, and her fear you'd love our child more?"

I was puzzled. "Since when do the two of you talk so much? Do I have any secrets?"

"Like panty-philia?"

I laughed loudly. Jesus, Sia was something else!

"So, what's echoing through that mind?" Alia asked.

"I see complications. The girls are best friends but they're teenagers. I'm not sure they can handle sharing the same person without jealousy ruining their relationship, and they have a wonderful relationship right now."

Alia smiled at me, a soft 'You can be so clueless' smile. "Philip, do you really think those two haven't talked about it? Do you think Jasmin would do anything behind Sia's back? If you do, you don't understand teen girls very well."

I laughed, never a truer word said. "I understand teen girls as well as I understand the gravitational influence of black holes on orbiting planets."

"So not at all."

I nodded.

"You're perfect for Jasmin. She's not looking for true love. She's not infatuated with you. She loves you like a father and trusts you. The simple fact that she trusts a male now is amazing progress."

"Okay. So how should I treat her?"

Alia talked about gentleness, nervousness, Jasmin's previous experience. She gave me insights into her daughter's perspective, her hopes, her desires. Alia armed me with knowledge and finally said, "You're a gentle soul, Philip. She sees that. So just be yourself."

Alia leaned back and rubbed the small bulge of her stomach, the first manifestation of her pregnancy. A look emerged in her beautiful eyes, one I associated with a starving velociraptor spotting a tied up lamb; me being the sacrificial lamb.

She glanced at her watch and then at me.

"I think we have time for a booty call. Drink up."

Grinning, I gulped. Alia's hormones were my friends; quickies my middle name. What panties was she wearing today?

Over the next couple of weeks, Jasmin found opportunities to be alone with me. I was quite certain Sia didn't have to run to Mac's Milk for ice cream. We had plenty. I was sure a shopping trip with Alia to buy "girl stuff" was a ruse, too. I didn't mind. Forewarned is forearmed.

At first, Jasmin would just sit with me in the kitchen while I cooked, or on the couch as we watched TV. Her quiet laughter grew more frequent, her hugs longer, and, eventually, she sat next to me, smiling shyly when I put my arm around her shoulders.

Intimacy took a while and I was okay with that. Jasmin was unsure, a novice, and clearly working to take a bigger step; a harder psychological step. I did nothing but encourage her, responding to actions, never initiating with anything but hugs of affection.

In her own sweet way, she slowly led our conversations towards Sia and me, and then her mother and me. She finally admitted to wondering what it would be like to be with me and when she did, she turned her face up from my side and looked at me with sweet yearning and shyness and uncertainty, her exotic dark eyes wide.

It was easy to bend and touch her lips with mine, a slight brush, her lips warm and silken. It was a simple kiss that broke the barrier and let intimacy enter our relationship.

"I'd be so honored, Jasmin. We have all the time in the world, so relax and have fun. I'm not going anywhere."

I kissed her gently again. She had soft lips that communicated sweet hesitancy; very attractive.

There was no rush to bed. In fact, over the next couple of weeks, Jasmin slowly became comfortable with demonstrations of affection when Sia and Alia were around, Sia grinning behind her hand, mismatched eyes twinkling, Alia smiling quietly as she observed her daughter overcome her fears.

I discovered how little control I had in my life. Sia and Jasmin arranged a sleepover at Jasmin's house. Alia called and asked me to keep her company and to bring some wine.

Alia flirted with me on the couch, after an excellent dinner. Loud music came from Jasmin's bedroom along with bursts of laughter. Alia leaned against me. We kissed.

"How about staying over tonight," she suggested, drawing my hand over her growing breast.

I was horny. A bit of energetic sex was just the ticket. "I'm there for you, Alia," I answered with a grin.

She laughed.

I was clueless. I'd been manipulated by pros. Waiting for Alia to arrive, sitting up in her bed, and horny, the bedroom door opened and Jasmin entered, eyes hesitant as she looked at me, a small shy smile on her pretty face. She closed the bedroom door and paused.

She was so pretty, so young, so slender. Her emerald green pajama shorts, silky and sexy, was matched to a camisole with lace trim at the top. The camisole draped, giving shape to two small breasts. Her slender legs looked longer. Jasmin's hair was pulled back, gathered in a clasp at the nape of her neck, a full, bushy, almost jet black ponytail falling down her back.

She was gorgeous, her shyness enhancing her appeal, young, a delicate waif of a girl. I smiled and held out my hand in invitation.

ALIA TURNED THE LIGHTS off and headed down the hall. She was nervous and worried, despite trusting Philip implicitly. This was so important for Jasmin; one chance to finally fix what Jerry had broken so harshly. Needing reassurance, despite her confidence in Philip, she knocked on Jasmin's bedroom door.

When Sia responded, Alia entered.

"Are you tired?" she asked Sia.

Sia, sitting up against the headboard, covers over her raised knees, her iPhone resting against them, glanced up and smiled.

"You look worried," Sia commented. "You shouldn't. Jasmin will be fine. Dad'll make sure of it."

Alia again marveled at how insightful Sia was. She was such a well-balanced girl. "You're not jealous at all, are you," she observed, sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping.

"Nope. I was jealous of you, at first, but it worked out." After a moment's consideration, she continued, "Jasmin needs this. She deserves to know how good it can be."

Alia smiled softly and curled a loose tress of Sia's hair behind her ear. "How did you get to be so mature?"

"Dad. He trusts me. He never treated me like a stupid kid." Sia shuffled to one side and patted the bed.

With easy comfort, Alia settled next to Sia and put her arm over Sia's shoulder. "I assume you know how lucky you are."

"Yup." Sia grinned. "I assume you know how lucky you are, too. Can I ask you something? I have questions."

Alia smiled to herself; Sia and her questions - perfectly charming. "Ask away."

"Um, well, those guys are trying something new. I wondered if we might . . . If you'd like . . . I mean, I've wondered what it was like for Jasmin . . ."

"Being with me," Alia finished.

"Uh-huh."

"I'd love to," Alia said feeling a warm flush of excitement. Then Sia shocked her.

"I wonder what it would be like to watch them. Exciting I think."

Alia tried to picture Philip making love to Jasmin, her little girl, a spark of arousal at the thought, and surprise, too. Since when did she find voyeurism erotic? "I image it would be very erotic." She hugged Sia.

"Maybe we could, like, after . . . later sometime, all be together in bed. That would be something."

Now aroused, Alia had no trouble imagining them all in bed. In fact, thinking about participating together was deliciously illicit. "How did you become so adventurous?" she asked.

"Dad said there's nothing we can't do as long as both of us want to and it doesn't involve pain or humiliation." Sia glanced at Alia. "Want to get comfortable in bed?"

Alia smiled and nodded. Two minutes later, Sia tossed her nightshirt to the bottom of the bed and Alia slipped under the covers. Two naked bodies, warm and soft, came together. Alia loved Sia's slender body against her, her small breasts pressed against hers.

They kissed gently. Alia caressed Sia, mapping the shape of Sia's body, her back, her hip, and with a pulse of pleasure, her incredible bottom, shapely, compact, sensual.

Tongues touched just as Alia's fingertips traced Sia's short cleft from behind. Sia murmured into the kiss, writhing slightly at the gentle stimulation.

As the kiss intensified, both of them moved their hands down between each other, each easing their hips back to give room. Alia cupped Sia's pussy and, at the feel of an almost hairless mons, trembled, the memory of Jasmin at eleven years old coming back, the erotic feel of a small pussy, of memories of her own exploration at that age.

Sia's heart beat faster, her fingers combing through Alia's silky soft pubes, her full mons, finding warmth and moisture below.

Kissing each other harder, breathing faster, both fondled each other, one with experience, the other with caution. Both found each other's clits and shuddered, excitement mounting, moist arousal increasing, pussies pulsing.

Alia led, setting the pace, Sia following. Hips started moving, pussies pressing to each other's hands. Arousal grew, intensified, bodies hunching, moving under the covers. The kiss broke, both needing to breathe, panting, nipples rubbing, sensitive, pulses of pleasure.

Sia was the first, gasping, her body jerking, her climax blossoming. At the sounds of her sweet climax, Alia followed, a surge of pleasure hitting, pussy contracting, waves of ecstasy washing through her. Both came together, one young, one mature and pregnant, hormones raging. They writhed together in bliss, their orgasms all-consuming.

Stillness came, bodies damp with perspiration, hot, relaxed from release, limp and at peace.

"Now I know what Jasmin was saying," Sia said softly as they cuddled together.

I WATCHED JASMIN MOVE towards me. Her shyness showed in her soft smile and slow approach, her beautiful dark eyes observant. She took my hand and let me lead her into bed. I held the covers up for her. She slipped in, so light the bed hardly moved.

I was acutely conscious of how careful I needed to be. Every move, every look had to be controlled. No risk could be taken. Every step had to follow comfortably from the last, a natural progression leading to the natural conclusion.

Jasmin lay on her back next to me, not initiating contact. Rolling and rising onto my elbow, I leaned over, smiled, caressed her bare arm and kissed her gently.

I felt stiffness in her arm. Her lips didn't respond. Why? Breaking the kiss, I studied her eyes for answers. Fear danced a shadow through them.

In a flash of insight, I understood and cursed myself. Leaning over her I loomed large, a dominating position. How could I be so stupid so soon? It must have evoked memories, unpleasant ones.

Laying down, I rolled Jasmin towards me, bringing her slender body to mine. "I'll never hurt you, Jasmin. We'll go at your pace. You're in charge."

She smiled slightly. "Okay."

This time the kiss was sweet, her hand tentatively settling on my chest. I caressed her back, calming, soft, and slowly the kiss intensified, lips pressing together. She smiled when the kiss ended, closed her eyes for the next, and sighed audibly when the tip of my tongue brushed her lips.

Her hand moved down to rest on my hip. I caressed down her back, my hand sliding over her silky camisole to settle on her gorgeous ass, so slender yet mounded out, sensual, arousing. With gentle pressure, I drew her closer.

When she felt my erection against her stomach she stiffened for a second, relaxed, and pressed her body to me, her tongue emerging to touch mine.

"You really are a beautiful girl," I said, when the kiss ended. "I'm such a lucky guy."

Jasmin smiled with pleasure. We kissed. Slowly, ever so slowly, our kisses grew in intimacy, Jasmin gaining confidence as she shed her fear, her tongue more active, the kiss intensifying.

I tracked her comfort though her body, using it as a guide for when to urge forward, when to ease off. I used her body to judge when to caress her side and, as my hand gently palmed her breast over her camisole, Jasmin murmured, relaxed, her tongue active.

Slightly larger than Sia's, it was just as firm, holding its sexy shape even on her side. Excitement hit when I discovered her nipple was large, like her mother's, prominent and aroused. I adored the shape of adolescent breasts, so very sexy. Jasmin actually trembled when I explored, a caress, a thumb pad brush, followed by taking it in my hand and testing its resilience.

Her hand stayed on my hip.

We kissed, lips moving, her breath wafting against my cheek, fresh and warm. She trembled when I slipped my hand down and under her camisole, drawing it up, my erection straining as I cupped her bare breast, sensed the stippling of her areola and tight nipple. Jasmin's skin was silky soft, warm to the touch, alive with tremors.

"You've got beautiful breasts," I whispered. "I can't tell you how much they turn me on."

She smiled, pride and excitement in her dark, dark eyes. We kissed, still sweet but lips moving, tongues caressing, and I shivered with pleasure when the tips of her fingers touched my erection. They trailed lightly measuring the length, passed the ridge of my crown, and touched the tip, pausing at the feel of precum before spreading it around. My heart rate spiked. Innocent exploration was so damned sexy.

Reluctantly, I stopped fondling her amazing breast, withdrew my hand, and eased her camisole up. Jasmin's comfort with me showed. She rolled onto her back and drew it up and off.

I gasped silently at the sight. Ebony skin sloped up dramatically on each adolescent breast, topped by almost black areolae and prominent nipples. I resisted the urge to lean over and kiss them, and glanced at her face instead. Jasmin was watching me with a small smile playing across her lips.

Remaining motionless, open to my inspection, her hand drifted down and ever so gently her fingers closed along my shaft, her palm pressing to the tip, precum oozing against her. I was so hard, throbbing, almost aching. She tested my stiffness with gentle squeezes.

Watching her, she smiled shyly. "It's bigger than I thought it would be."

The moment was right to change the mood. I grinned. "You made it big."

Jasmin's smile broadened, white teeth showing, eyes shining with achievement. "I did, didn't I?" she said, moving her hand to grip the shaft.

This time, when I bent over her and carefully took one breast into my mouth, sucking lightly, and twirling my tongue around her prominent nipple, I tasted a hint of saltiness. Jasmin gasped quietly.

"Mmmm," I murmured with a mouth full.

Jasmin giggled lightly. She stroked me. My cock swelled, now into ache territory.

I kissed the tip and moved across to her other breast, giving it the same loving attention, my hand settling on her prominent hip. Her silky, emerald green pajama shorts slid as I caressed, my excitement mounting. What would her pussy look like?

Arousal threatened to take control. Watching her for any signs of discomfort, I eased my fingers under the waist, around her hip and behind. As my hand slipped inside silky pajama shorts to touch bare skin, Jasmin rolled towards me. She moved close, pressing her amazing breasts against me, her hand still holding my erection, and I finally caressed her bare buttock, firm, remarkably rounded, and, at the tip of my finger, her bum crack.

As we kissed with growing intensity, I slid one side of her pajama shorts down over her hip. Jasmin lifted her hips in silent approval and I edged the other side down. Free of her hips, I pushed the pajama shorts down her legs and, as she kicked them off, my hand moved up the inside of her thigh.

Would she close her legs in a sign of shyness? Would she break the kiss?

Jasmin squeezed my cock in her fist. She moaned very quietly and, for the first time I cupped her pussy. The quilt hid our lower bodies, but the sense of touch was more than enough for a thrill to shake me. Soft, soft pubic hair tickled my palm, her mons a full mound. My fingers felt the outline of her vulva, rounded and plump and warm. God, I so wanted to see her and do more, so much more.

Inhaling sharply, deeply, I took in a calming breath. This wasn't about me, at all. Calm restored, I kissed Jasmin.

"You're dangerously attractive, Jasmin."

She smiled with pleasure, eyes shining. Then, they softened, arousal warming them. I'd found her clitoris. Rubbing it slowly, Jasmin inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. Her grip on my erection tightened.

With only slight pressure, I stroked her clit and watched her eyes closely. She sighed, relaxed, her eyes slowly closing, losing herself in the sensation. Moisture emerged at my fingertip, Jasmin's arousal, warm and slippery. My finger sank deeper into her cleft, rubbing her clit, fingertip dipping down, rising, sinking deeper. Jasmin's body responded with slight movements, her pelvis rocking, pussy curling up. The tip of my finger slipped down, suddenly surrounded by velvet; I'd penetrated her to the first knuckle.

With an erection now weeping precum, and my finger gripped tightly by her pussy, Jasmin shuddered silently. I caught her scent, sexy, arousing, a hint of earthiness. Kissing her cheek gently, with Jasmin still holding my erection, her body shook gently. She moaned and climaxed, soft and sweet, body trembling like a frightened fawn, her legs slowly closing and trapping my hand. It was such a sweet climax, so different from her mother, almost shy, so personal; a true gift to me.

As she calmed I returned to hugging her, pulling her close. On our sides, Jasmin nestled into me, letting my erection go to hug me too.

Silky hair tickled my face. I caught the hint of perfume, pears and lilacs. We held each other silently.

"I've only just started," I said. "We're not finished. No sleeping."

Jasmin's body shook with silent giggles and I sighed with relief. Fear had been displaced by trust, apprehension by acceptance; Jasmin had lost the last of her inhibitions. She proved it by rubbing herself against my erection sandwiched between us, precum spreading, slippery.

I fondled her ass and gave it a squeeze. "Definitely world-class," I observed.

"Thanks," she answered. Then she surprised me by fondling my ass, giving my buttock a squeeze and saying, "Yours, too. Sia was right. You have a great butt."

I had to laugh. Having a thirteen-year-old telling me I have a great ass was a new one.

Kisses started again, a light brushing of lips, teasing, a bit of pressure and easing off only to meet again. Jasmin rubbed against my erection, and murmured into our kiss. Arousal had returned. Her tongue emerged first this time, a teasing swipe, and a silent giggle when she withdrew foiling my attempt to touch her tongue with mine, her body shaking, stimulating my cock. Tongues touched. Jasmin edged her knee up, hooking her leg over my side.

She shuffled up slightly and, as my erection slipped over her pussy and between her legs, the tip pressed to her cleft. I pulsed, precum leaking.

Nibbling her luscious lower lip, Jasmin sighed and pressed her pussy against my cock. The tip, lubricated by precum, slipped down to press between her buttocks. She moaned quietly and moved her hips back. Once again, my tip was pressed to her cleft. She pressed, this time using her leg hooked over me to pull. My erection slipped again to press between her buttocks.

I wondered how many times she was going to try. In our position, facing each other, she'd never have the leverage, the angle wrong for hands-free penetration. The sensation was fantastic, though. The tip pressed to her pussy, sliding down, slippery, her buttocks sandwiching me.

A couple more tries, and Jasmin reached down between us, taking my shaft in hand and guiding it. I nuzzled her cheek, kissed her, and let her try. She was, despite technically not being a virgin, too young, too small for this position to work. But, man-oh-man, was it erotic! Jasmin rubbed the crown of my erection through her cleft, working it deeper, soft labia caressing me. She guided it to her entrance, pressed her pussy to me, and groaned when the tip slipped down again.

"Jasmin, it won't work like this," I whispered.

She looked at me, her hand pausing. I kissed her and smiled.

"How?" she asked.

"It'll be easier if you're on top or I'm on top."

She thought about it for a moment, looked at me, her exotic eyes studying every feature of my face, assessing, deciding. With a shy smile, she chose, one knee edging under my leg, her other leg tugging, her hand pulling my butt. We rolled, her thighs parting to cradle me.

I was well aware of how I now had the dominant position. "Are you sure?" I asked.

Jasmin smiled, nodded, her hands settling on my hips.

Reaching between us, I held my shaft, cock hard and aching, thick. The tip kissed her cleft. Jasmin stared into my eyes. I smiled, bent and kissed her lightly, pressing myself forward. Soft labia parted to nestle my crown, warm, moist, so exciting. the tip slipped through her cleft and lodged at its base, poised at her entrance.

Jasmin made the first move, pressing her pussy at me. I added pressure. We made no progress, Jasmin too tight. Moving together, we eased back and pressed forward, no progress made, but, God it felt good. My cock pulsed, weeping precum. It felt like for ever, gentle motions, no progress. I knew I could thrust harder, wanted to thrust harder, but waited.

Very slowly, the crown edged deeper between her labia. Very, very slowly Jasmin's entrance yielded and, finally, with exquisite slowness and a sharp inhalation from Jasmin, my tip oozed into her, held tight, so tight. We paused.

"Okay so far?" I asked.

Jasmin nodded, concentration on her face. I felt her exploration of being stretched, slight pussy clenches.

"We can stop, if you want," I offered, despite the need pulsing through me. Jasmin needed to know she was in control.

"Not yet," she answered, giving me another of her shy smiles. She reinforced it by pressing up against me.

We made no progress. With gentle fucking motions, progress was excruciatingly slow. Jasmin's pussy was so tight and not nearly as moist as Sia's. Penetrating her was exciting, made more so by our pace. It felt like it took for ever and I was only half way in, my erection gripped firmly. I felt every pulse in my cock and worked hard to tamp down cumming too soon. It was a massive effort.

Leaning down, my weight still off her body, we kissed, soft and loving. Jasmin's hands brushed up my back to my shoulders. We fucked slowly, inching deeper into her snug pussy; two-thirds now gripped tightly in a warm embrace.

Tongues teased, her warm breath like a brush of a feather against my cheek. Moving together, in an exquisite dance of love, I slowly penetrated her deeper, every millimeter felt, so damned arousing. And just as she took me inside completely, with her pussy pressed to my groin, Jasmin's hands caressed up my back to hold my shoulders. She added pressure drawing my weight down onto her, her pert breasts pressing to my chest.

We paused, kissing gently, Jasmin adjusting to the sensation of being stretched, full. I loved how she felt underneath me. I loved her slender youth, my erection buried in her, not moving, just throbbing, that wonderful ache before moving, the prelude to ecstasy.

Jasmin eased her pelvis back and then pressed against me. My cock didn't move inside her. I kissed her and tried to withdraw from her pussy. She was so tight it felt as if we were locked together. Yet slowly, ever so slowly, as we rocked together my erection began to move, at first just the crown rubbing inside her, then gliding, as if precum was lubricating her. Each rock of my hips became longer, the crown slipping and sliding, the shaft held tight. God the sensation was phenomenal. Then, as if unlocked, my cock slipped easily, withdrawing from her tight grasp until only the head remained inside her. I reversed and penetrated her again, stretching her small pussy, slipping in deep, my tip nudging against her very end, cock swelling with excitement.

Jasmin broke our kiss and hugged me tight, no words spoken. I nuzzled her neck giving her small kisses, her scent of pears and lilacs strong. We moved together, Jasmin curling her pussy away as I withdrew, a long and agonizing stroke, and curled back at me as I fucked back into her, buried in a tight embrace. We fucked slowly, very, very slowly, each stroke bringing exquisite pleasure, cock swelling.

Jasmin started making quiet sounds, thrilling me with sighs, murmurs, her whole body slowly moving underneath me. Fucking each other only slightly faster, I began to worry. I could feel a massive orgasm building; tightness in my balls, stomach clenching, muscles slowly growing taut. Still we fucked, delicious strokes, my lover so tight, so sweet. Pressure built, cock straining.

It felt so incredibly good I knew I was at the end of self restraint, even though our movements were so slow, so gentle, fucking each other carefully. I wished it would go on for ever, this exquisite precipice to a climax, the most perfect moment of love-making. But, I couldn't. It was more than I could handle.

My cock swelled dangerously, need overwhelming restraint. "Cum with me, Jasmin," I whispered, heart racing.

Jasmin started moving faster, humping my cock. I thrust into her incredible pussy trying to maintain a slow pace, my erection throbbing, threatening. Then, Jasmin fell into her climax, gripping my shoulders tightly, her body trembling underneath me. She was silent, her pussy rhythmically clenching my cock as I penetrated her fully, withdrew, penetrated her again. In the quietest climax I'd ever experienced, Jasmin's body shook, legs twitching as they gripped my sides. I heard her hold her breath. Her pussy clamped down on my erection almost painfully and I came, semen charging up, cock expanding, glorious bliss striking me as I ejaculated deep inside her. Suddenly, I felt the hot wetness of my cum bathing my crown. Another massive wave of bliss hit, stealing my breath, stomach cramping as I thrust into her, semen exploding, sweet ecstasy washing through me. Jasmin reacted, her body humping me, almost silent gasps in my ear. Suddenly, her pussy was wet and slippery. In a storm of pleasure, I fucked Jasmin, thrusting and cumming, each desperate spurt bringing beautiful release. My body shook, I thrust, I came hard, so damned hard, endless pleasure, fucking, exploding, filling her, cumming, cumming, bliss, sweet bliss.

As our bodies stilled, in the silence, Jasmin sighed. Her hands caressed my damp back. I felt her relax, her body going limp, legs falling to the bed. I was feeling a bit weak in the knees myself. My body was sated, completely drained. Sex with Jasmin was so different from my daughter; just as exciting, just as satisfying, but different.

Being careful of my weight, I eased my softened cock out of her still tight pussy and slipped to her side, rolling her towards me. Jasmin snuggled into me, a kitten finding love. "Are you okay?" I asked quietly.

Her answer was a nod against me. Drawing the covers up, I let her rest. My mind was active and full of questions. Was it good for her? Had it been what she'd wanted? Why were her climaxes so quiet, so loving, so sweet? Were they like that with her mother?

Before I knew it, Jasmin's breathing settled into a gentle rhythm. She'd fallen asleep. I followed, hugging her to me.

Movement woke me. Bright morning sun streamed through large bedroom windows. On my side, I cracked my eyes open to see Jasmin slip from the bed, gloriously nude. I watched her walk to the bathroom, her body sleek, hips so narrow, dark skin almost glowing in the sunlight. I studied her gorgeous ass, almost boyish in its slenderness yet beautifully rounded buttocks moving with such sensuality. The bathroom door closed quietly.

A few minutes later the sound of a flushing toilet reached me followed by water splashing into the sink. Pretending to be asleep, through slit eyes, I finally saw Jasmin in all her naked glory. Her breasts, only slightly larger than my daughter's, hardly moved as she walked back to bed. They rode high and wide, slightly more protuberant than Sia's with stunning black areolae and large nipples. My gaze travelled down to the junction of her thighs. I stifled the gasp that wanted escape. Jasmin had a beautiful pubic bush; jet black, short silken curls, and still so new it hadn't spread across her mons. Her vulva was full between her thighs, softly covered in pubes, the gap so sexy. A morning erection formed. Was she coming back to bed or going to get dressed? I knew what I wanted - her.

Closing my eyes, I waited.

Jasmin slipped into bed, turned away from me and edged back. Her movement stopped when she felt my erection nestle between her lovely buttocks then continued, pressing herself against me. She reached behind and drew my arm around her. Did she want to make love?

She answered my unasked question by easing her butt away, reaching behind and guiding my erection between her thighs, trapping me there with a soft squeeze.

"What a perfect way to greet the morning," I said, reaching up to cup her breast, fondling it gently, tracing the sides, and rubbing my thumb over her nipple. I nuzzled her neck and enjoyed the scent of a young sleepy girl, so distinctive and delicious. "Am I to assume you want to use me for your own pleasure?"

Jasmin giggled silently, her body shaking.

"I'm yours," I said. "Please, please use me."

That brought out a laugh. Then she moved, a slow hump, her pussy rubbing on my erection. I thrust slightly, enjoying the feel of her silky thighs, her exquisite bottom, her amazing breast. Jasmin humped slowly in counterpoint to my moves. Slickness arrived with precum leaking, spreading, still humping each other. Then Jasmin curled her ass back at me. I felt her hand press against the crown. Soft labia hugged me as she pressed me into her cleft. Holding me there, Jasmin wiggled slightly. I drowned in the sensation of slowly penetrating her, her pussy, oh so slowly dilating, a warm embrace greeting me with a tight, loving hug.

Satisfied, with the crown lodged inside her, she covered my hand cupping her breast. A curl of her butt pressed her pussy at me and I reacted, curling my hips, cock pressing. We started the dance of love, small, relaxed, lazy sex in the morning, gentle movements that let me feel every incredible inch of her as I penetrated her from behind. We moved in counterpoint, slowly, my cock held tight, snug inside her, short withdrawals, short thrusts, excitement building. Jasmin clenched her lovely buttocks when I tweaked her nipple and she trembled slightly when I squeezed her whole breast, a perfect palmful.

With lazy pleasure we fucked each other, stroking into her, pulling back, stroking in, Jasmin humping me. Sunlight made the bedroom bright. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the fantastic sensation of fucking her, so slender and petite against me, her pussy so snug and warm, velvety, moist. I fucked her gently, letting the swell of my orgasm gather, cock straining, buried inside her, withdrawing, burying myself in heaven. I almost missed it. Jasmin pressed my hand against her small boob, inhaled quietly, and her body shuddered, pussy contracting on my cock, releasing, contracting again with each wave of her climax. I let myself go. My erection swelled, ached, and in the gentlest, most loving orgasm, I came, semen spurting inside her, a wave of bliss hitting me. I came again, cock swelling, glorious release, cumming in her in a strong pulse. With Jasmin shaking lightly, her pussy contracting as it milked me, I came deeply, spurting semen, pleasure glowing inside. I fucked her gently and came, came, each throb exquisite, semen flooding her pussy until the wave passed, peace arriving, body calm, sated.

We lay together for several minutes. Finally, I spoke. "You can wake me up like that anytime, honey. No need to let me know beforehand. Just use me. I'm okay with that."

Jasmin laughed, her pussy expelling me. Semen gushed wet and warm.

At breakfast, as I entered the kitchen, showered and fresh, Sia was sitting at the table with a bowl of Froot Loops in front of her, mismatched eyes sparkling and inquisitive. A thermos of coffee and empty mug waited on the table. I poured.

"So?" Sia asked. "Tell me everything."

"Good morning," I said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "How was your night?"

The sudden flush of red had me intrigued. My attention, however, was distracted by Jasmin's arrival. Alia, at the stove cooking something, glanced at her daughter. I saw the questions in her dark, exotic eyes. Jasmin smiled shyly and moved into her mother's arms. I couldn't hear what was said but watched Alia hug her daughter tightly, look over at me and smile gently, mouthing, "Thank you."

"C'mon, Dad. Tell," my nosy daughter insisted. "I have questions."

"I don't talk about intimacy with others," I said. "That includes you."

"S'okay. Jasmin will tell me everything anyway. Hey Jasmin! Come and sit here!"

Chapter Twenty-three

They say men rule the world. It's a lie. I know for a fact that women rule. They're sneaky, letting men rule only carefully selected aspects of life to keep us in ignorance. I know because three females conspired against me. Three females, despite my protestations, decided Sia and I should move into Alia's house, and live as a family despite Alia not wanting to get married.

I objected, more than half-heartedly. I didn't doubt my stamina, but honestly – keeping three females satisfied? It might have worked if there was distance between them, schedules conflicting, gaps between amorous liaisons. And living in the same home promised all sorts of complications. Who would share the bed? How would it be decided without arguments and jealousies damaging relationships?

I protested and threw up every logical argument, detailed every possible negative, and pointed out the tenuous position of being outnumbered three to one, all to no avail.

Alia, Sia, and Jasmin calmly informed me I was being stubborn, a typical male, unable to see the logic of the proposal. Then the three, calm as you like, informed me they were going to live together and I could join them if I so pleased. Blackmailing witches!

We moved in, Sia delighted to be sharing a bedroom with Jasmin even though there were two extra bedrooms. I kept my house and rented it out; fully furnished except for an old oak kitchen table Alia had taken a shine to. She declined my offer to give her the rest of our furniture, claiming it wouldn't fit the décor. Right.

However, well hidden from them, I was delighted. I had three people I adored, and one on the way. I had a future of teen girls to provide endless amusement and bewilderment, and a beautiful, elegant lady in my life.

Epilogue

The sound of a baby crying filtered out to me. It was the hunger cry. I smiled and stretched out on the couch, watching a documentary on a year in Antarctica. Alia was out at a late meeting with a client.

Sipping a glass of twelve-year-old Glenmorangie, ice tinkling in the cut-crystal glass, I enjoyed the smooth peaty flavor, the coolness in my mouth, and blossom of heat in my stomach as I swallowed. My mind drifted, meandering back over the last thirteen years. Life had worked out well, just not quite how I'd envisioned.

The three females in my life seemed to communicate psychically. I'd find one or another of the girls coming to bed with me every so often, Alia absent. There were no fights, no discussions, no schedules; it was as if they'd colluded on how to manage me to their satisfaction. I didn't complain. Managing three females would have been like trying to coral ants by thought alone - impossible from the get go - and probably would have driven me to drink, at least to drink more, that is. I was a wise man. "I have no opinion," was my standard position when presented with any of their decisions.

Twelve years ago, Alia had delivered a belated Christmas gift; a curly dark brown-haired girl with café au lait skin and warm hazel eyes; a perfect blend of her parents. Cailyn Soraya Sanderson-Hicks had stolen my heart from first sight. Two teenage girls were so excited, enchanted with a real life doll; something to play with.

The birth of Cailyn stirred a debate; Jasmin and Sia insisting Alia and I get married so Cailyn wouldn't have a different surname than the rest of us. So, the wedding was held on a warm spring day, with two beautiful fourteen-year-olds acting as maids of honor. The Sanderson-Hicks family became official.

At sixteen, Jasmin had had her first date, insisting Sia find one too, so they could double date. Sia, curiously, never dated the same guy twice. At that point, I didn't understand why. Then again, I never truly understood my daughter.

Jasmin breezed into university. She had an intimidating intellect and had her choice of universities. Sia put in enough effort to be accepted, no more, and even that reluctantly. She only applied herself when she understood how important it was to me. They attended the University of St. Paul. Jasmin had graduated with honors, completed her Masters, and was now in her first year of her PhD in Applied Mathematics. Sia couldn't get home soon enough and I finally understood why she was so uninterested in boyfriends; never developing an attachment.

I had underestimated her, yet again. She'd reminded me of something she'd said at thirteen years old; "I'm only lending you to Alia. You're mine, first and for ever, whether you like it or not." I hadn't realized how utterly serious she'd been.

Sia pulled me out of my reverie by walking into the living room. Warmth flooded me. She carried Max cradled in her arms, our three-month-old son.

Smiling at me, her mystical mismatched eyes shining, she said, "He's a hungry boy," Max busy suckling at her breast. She sat in the armchair, glanced at me and added, "Don't drink too much, Dad. It's not good for you."

"It's my first," I claimed, even though it was my second. Friday night deserved to be celebrated. "Happy Friday!"

Sia ignored me.

At twenty-six, Sia hadn't changed much. She was still a slight girl, now with a narrow waist. She never lost her zaniness, a constant source of entertainment. She reminded me of Soraya, her mother, especially when she'd been pregnant and said with admiring delight, "Look, Dad, real tits! I have a cleavage! Guess what we can try now!"

I let my mind drift. Almost a year ago.

In bed with Sia, her legs tugging my thighs as we made love, me on top, holding each other tight, thrusting in, Sia so hot and moist. She'd groaned deeply, curling her pussy up at me, taking me deep. "Fuck me, Daddy," she'd moaned quietly, her body undulating underneath me.

Holding one glorious, sculpted buttock, I thrust into her, her pussy so tight, massaging my rigid cock. I fucked Sia gently, slow and easy strokes. She groaned again, almost silently, curling her pussy up, fucking me.

Her whisper was so light. "Cumming, Daddy."

As she shuddered, her pussy clenching with pulses of her climax, I came, cock swelling, semen surging. Yet again I was stunned by the thrill of cumming in my daughter. With a groan of pleasure hot, thick cum erupted inside her pussy. Another wave hit, semen exploding, sweet ecstasy flushing through me. Gripping her beautiful ass, I thrust and came, thrust and came, Sia writhing, climaxing, pussy milking me. I came fully, pulses ebbing to leave me breathless, drained, sated, body warm and languid.

Still holding me tightly, Sia's legs relaxed. Fading tremors shook her body, slowly passing, little clenches of her pussy.

In the silence, hugging my daughter, my face nestled into her neck inhaling her familiar aroma, Sia spoke, and as I'd become used to, she shocked me.

"I'm pregnant, Dad. The doctor confirmed it today. We're going to have a baby."

I was too drained and relaxed to get upset. She had warned me she was going to have my baby and obviously ignored my plea that she wait.

"You could have told me you'd stopped taking the pill," I said.

Still hugging me, she answered, "Why? Would you have said no?"

With a sigh of resignation, I confirmed, "Probably not."

"See?" she said, raising my head, smiling, studying me with her mismatched eyes. She kissed me, a soft press of silky lips; her loving kiss.

With a sigh of pleasure at the memory, I took another sip of scotch.

"Hey, Sis. How's Max doing?" Cailyn asked, strolling into the living room, pausing by Sia to kiss Max's forehead.

"He's happy," Sia answered with a smile.

Cailyn rubbed Max's dark brown hair and smiled into his pale, sky blue eyes before moving to the couch.

Like her sisters, Cailyn was willowy, with long legs, a café au lait goddess in the making. In her pale yellow pajama shorts and camisole top, she looked like the twelve-year-old she was. Small buds on her chest announced the onset of puberty. Cailyn was a sweet girl, soft spoken, observant, sharp. She'd never given Alia and me a moment's trouble. But, teen years were around the corner, so who knew?

She shoved my feet out of the way and flopped onto the couch, curling her bare legs up.

"What the heck are you watching, Dad?" she asked, her hands trying to tame her wild dark brown curls unsuccessfully. Her hair was our barometer of humidity; wild and frizzy on humid days.

"A Year in Antarctica," I informed her, leaning towards the coffee table to grab the TV remote in a preemptive strike.

She snatched it first. "Too slow, Dad. You snooze, you lose." Channels started flying by in a blur.

I poked her with my foot. "I was here first, my dear. I get to choose. That's the rule."

Cailyn kicked my pestering feet away, acknowledged that I'd spoken with an, "Uh-huh," and then completely ignored me.

Sia laughed.

Undeterred, I tried to tickle Cailyn. She squirmed and used her feet to defend her flank. Feet battled, Cailyn writhed and giggled.

"Daaaad! Stop! I'm trying to watch TV."

As we calmed, Cailyn's legs intertwined with mine. I had visions of Sia, our game of footsie. Who knew a simple game would have such an impact on my life.

Cailyn glanced at me. "Did you like my Facebook post on Max?"

"Yup. It was very nice," I told her.

"But did you like it?"

"Yes. I just told you it was great."

"Daaaaad! Did you like it," she asked, her fingers making air quotes.

"What do you mean like?"

"You have to click on the like button."

"Why?"

"So I get more likes and, like, then more people will like it, too. That way I get lots of likes."

I felt more than a bit bamboozled.

Sia laughed. "Cailyn, he still doesn't have a cell phone. How can you expect him to understand likes? He's a technology Luddite."

Glancing at Sia, I watched her breastfeed our son. She looked at me and smirked. I grinned and admired her. I thought Soraya and I had named her perfectly; Sia, one who brings joy. And she did, every day of my life. Sia, my sweet, feisty daughter, was still my deepest love.