THE SOUND OF THE sliding glass door opening made me stop contorting and glance up. Michelle stepped out giving me one of her bright smiles. I grinned and turned back to my important task.

Sitting at the patio table reading the newspaper in the late afternoon sun, I was rubbing the sole of my left foot on the flagstone trying to scratch a persistent itch that was partway up the arch. It was beginning to annoy me. The itch was in an awkward spot, almost out of reach of the flagstone and driving me nuts. Since I was holding the newspaper, I didn't want to use my hand to scratch the damned thing. I had tried using the hair on my shinbone to kill it, followed by the leg of the table, abstractly wondering why one could rub the bottom of your foot on pretty much anything but when you used your hand it would tickle. Contorting, I tried another angle of attack on the flagstone with my knee twisted to the side and body half turned in the chair, still clutching the open newspaper with determination.

"How's the water, Dad?" Michelle asked, closing the door to our eat-in kitchen.

"It's good, Honey, the perfect temperature."

I sighed to myself. She was wearing a full bathing suit again, cut high to her neck; a bathing suit that reminded me of the type women wore back in the forties and fifties. "Aren't you going to sunbathe?" I asked, immediately regretting it.

The smile faded from my daughter's face. "No."

She walked down the steps at the end of the pool until she was hip deep then dived in, arching her body, arms leading, and slipping into the water with hardly a splash. When her head broke the surface, she smiled at me. "Coming in? It's nice."

To make up for my goof, I rose. Standing at the edge of the pool, my itchy left foot finally found relief as I scratched it vigorously on the edge of the stone. It felt so good, almost as good as pissing when your bladder's full and painful, a sort of orgasmic feeling of relief. It made me smile quite stupidly.

"Come on, Dad!"

I dived in. In the underwater silence I saw Michelle's slender legs kicking gently to hold her in place. Gliding towards her, I slipped up in front of her and, as I broke the surface a foot away, as she smiled sweetly at me, I reached for her shoulders and shoved her under.

Her spluttering made me smile.

"Dad! That wasn't necessary!" she exclaimed.

"Damn. You're right. Sorry," I apologised, reaching out to hug her with open arms. When she approached I shoved her under again. My daughter was smart. This time she moved away from me before surfacing, coughing up water.

"DAD! Honestly! I could have drowned, you goof!" she sputtered, her lovely face scrunched in a disapproving, secretly delighted frown.

"Well you didn't," I answered with a sneaky grin. "Sorry?" I offered, holding out my arms, trying to look chagrined as I offered up another apologetic hug.

Michelle laughed. "I'm not falling for that again." She splashed water at me with incredible accuracy, my mouth suddenly flooded with chlorinated water. I choked. The war was on.

After some exhausting romping and splashing, not to mention a fair amount of dunking, I crawled out of the pool to collapse at the side, enjoying the heat radiating from the flagstones on my back and letting the weakening late afternoon sun start to dry my body. Michelle popped up at the side of the pool. She held onto the side with crossed arms, her chin resting in them, two deep green eyes peering at me. A smile broke out. Damn but she was pretty when she smiled. Her smile made me feel like a puppy; if I'd had a tail, it would have been wagging a mile-a-minute.

"Tired already?" she asked.

"I'm old," I complained. "I don't have the energy of a twelve-year-old."

A wall of water hit me along with an attractive laugh. "Thirteen, goof."

Michelle had turned thirteen last weekend and celebrated by having a few girlfriends over for a barbecue, no boys invited despite my encouragement. Some days I felt it was hopeless, that I'd never see her fully recover.

Rolling onto my side, I leaned towards Michelle and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek before standing. "I'm going to shower and change. Feel like going out for dinner?" I asked, heading towards the sliding glass doors.

"Okay. WHERE?" she yelled at my back as I stepped through the glass doors.

Turning, my heart constricted at the pleasure on her pretty face. "Let's do it right. Umberto's." I knew it was one of her favourites.

"Really? Okay!"

Rinsing off in the shower, I felt the all too familiar heaviness in my chest. Michelle refused to see a psychologist even though she admitted she might have a small problem. "I'm working on it, Dad," she'd told me on numerous occasions. But the simple fact was, despite her glorious smiles, she wasn't working on it. It was getting worse.

She'd been nine, Mr. Lubin driving her home from Pamela's birthday party because I was too busy at work. When Michelle had called asking me to pick her up early, "Not feeling well, Dad," I'd told her to wait, my work seemingly more important.

The call I'd received an hour later had panicked me. "Mr. Richards? There's been an accident," a police officer advised me calmly. Michelle had been taken to Mount Sinai hospital.

Mr. Lubin was fine with the exception of a few scrapes and bruises, the single airbag in his old Toyota Corolla having worked effectively when the car skidded off the road in the downpour and hit a tree on the passenger side. But Michelle wasn't fine. By the time I reached the hospital I was sick to my stomach with fear. The news waiting for me there had been no better; worse in fact.

Michelle had suffered lacerations to her torso and, while I stood trembling and distraught in front of a compassionate ER nurse, my world collapsing around me, I was told she was in surgery to repair a pierced lung and damaged heart, and "no, Mr. Richards, we can't tell how she's doing yet, but the doctors here are excellent."

Excellent they were. However, there is nothing elegant about emergency surgery; it's fix the trauma at all cost; save the life. And for Michelle, the cost had been high. I thanked God she was alive. But, despite countless rounds of plastic surgery, there was no hiding the hideous scar on her sternum that went from her neck to below her diaphragm, a lasting remembrance of where surgeons had cut her open and spread her ribcage to get to her heart. Eventually the lacerations on her torso faded into small white lines. The scar on her chest faded only slightly. But no amount of plastic surgery could ever, ever fix the scar to her soul that made her pathologically self-conscious.

As I dried with a towel, I realised I hadn't actually seen her scar since she was ten years old. It didn't matter. The emotional scar was blatant. Despite being a beautiful green-eyed girl with dark chestnut hair that fell long and straight to her rear, Michelle carefully avoided boys and covered her self-consciousness in shapeless clothes that left no part of her skin or psyche exposed.

It was as I was slipping Dockers on that a truth became clear. I thought I'd bent to her will and allowed her to become the way she was for fear of upsetting her. But, it wasn't that. No. It was guilt. I'd let her have her way because of my guilt for not picking her up when she'd called. If I had. . .

Shaking my head, I decided it didn't matter. That was history; water under the bridge. I needed to find a way to help Michelle heal emotionally. The only problem was I had no idea. None. I'd pretty much exhausted all my ideas. I'd tried telling her she was beautiful, that it was her personality that would attract boys, and that her scars were barely noticeable, a gentle lie. But it had had no effect, making me feel as though I was tossing water balloons at the concrete wall of her conviction hoping to bring it down.

Slipping my feet into black leather loafers, I noticed a smudge on the tip of one shoe and, without thinking, polished it away on my tan pants as I wrestled yet again with how to help Michelle. It was an constant millstone around my neck that occasionally, especially after a few too many drinks, weighed so heavily I'd feel the prickle of tears form behind my eyes, desperately wishing I could rewrite history.

Umberto's was a small family-run restaurant with very traditional Italian fare. What set it apart was Umberto himself. He was full of life as he managed the staff and would suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, burst into an Italian song. Diners, myself included, could not help but smile at his ebullient personality.

Michelle looked spectacular, even with her long-sleeved silk blouse buttoned up to her chin. She'd pulled her long hair back with a clasp at the nape of her neck, her face smiling at Umberto's rendition of La Traviata. We chatted about nothing and everything, laughed at the antics of the staff, their yelling and castigating each other filling the restaurant with ambiance, and ate Osso Bucco, a tender veal shank. A delectable red wine, a perfect Amarone, softly lowered my caution. "Michelle, why don't you unbutton just the top of your blouse?" I asked thoughtlessly, instantly regretting it.

"No, Dad."

Her lovely green eyes clouded and her pretty smile faltered and faded away, leaving me feeling cold and stupid and angry with myself. Would I ever learn?

For the rest of our dinner I concentrated on making up for my slip and eventually, by the time we were eating Gelato for dessert, Michelle smiled again, the restaurant brightening. Through it all my chest felt heavy. The depth of my need to see my child cured was startling. It was a driving need; the only thing that really mattered to me.

It was an accident that hinted at a possible cure. Reaching across the intimate table-for-two, I wiped a speck of chocolate gelato from her cheek with my thumb and watched in amazement as Michelle tilted her head into my hand and blushed sweetly, my heart constricting.

"You're beautiful, Honey," I told her.

"No I'm not."

She said it with such complete finality, such total conviction, I realized she truly didn't see herself as just a girl with scars, but felt disfigured and ugly, self-conscious of body flaws no one could see or care about.

That night Michelle and I sat on the couch watching a movie. I pulled her close to my side unconsciously, my mind preoccupied. Michelle needed to understand she was beautiful and attractive, inside and out, despite the scars. She was perfect in my eyes. But she'd never let a boy close enough to prove it to her. I knew she had a mental hurdle she just couldn't overcome on her own.

Later, in bed I wrestled for a while. But it wasn't hard. Michelle was too important to me. I knew I had to make her feel beautiful; not just tell her as I'd been doing, but actually make her feel beautiful, make her see the beauty I saw every day. With a flash of insight I realised I needed to make my daughter feel desirable; prove to her she was attractive to the opposite sex.

For a father, it wasn't a simple task. That night I fell asleep wondering how I could do it. How does a father make a daughter feel sexy and wanted?

MICHELLE AUTOMATICALLY TURNED AWAY from the mirror as she undressed for bed, her long nightdress ready on the bedspread. She smiled remembering how Dad dunked her in the pool. He was such a child sometimes, laughing at the dumbest things and getting so much pleasure from inane pranks. At times she doubted he really was an adult, that boyish grin making him appear so young. But then he'd look at her, like he did at Umberto's, his dark expressive eyes radiating love, and her heart would patter. She could still feel the ghost of his thumb caressing her cheek and the heat of his eyes.

Her hand went up to the spot Dad had touched, her mind replaying the look in his eyes. She'd immediately tilted her head, wanting to feel his hand. It had been hard not to grab his hand and hold it to her face, some unfamiliar emotion inside trying to get out; heavy, an ache.

Dad was the only one she felt relaxed around. She knew, no matter what, he loved her.

Without looking down at the ugliness of her scarred body, she slipped her nightdress over her head, buttoning the neck and sleeves up, and slipped between the sheets. She slept with a smile, images of Dad in Umberto's drifting through her mind; his attention, the bright sparkle of intelligence and love in his eyes, his smile that all her girlfriends were envious of, his touch.

I WOKE WITH A headache, feeling as if my brain was heavy and in a fog. While sleep hadn't refreshed me, and that bottle of Amarone I'd consumed at Umberto's was punishing me slightly, my mind must have been working overtime through the night. I saw it with absolute clarity. I saw what I needed to do for Michelle. The only problem was, could I? It didn't matter. It was Michelle, my Michelle. I'd do anything for my child.

"Morning, Sweetheart," I said as she sleepily wandered into the kitchen and sat at the table. "How did you sleep?" I asked. She hadn't brushed her hair and was wearing her long-sleeved nightgown buttoned up to the neck. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, she looked scrumptious and cuddly.

"I don't know. My head is still drowsy, so I guess I slept deeply."

Setting a glass of OJ in front of her, I bent and kissed her cheek softly, suddenly aware of her scent, gentle and subtle, sleepy and nice. "You smell good, Honey," I said softly, cupping her chin and rubbing her cheek with my thumb. She amazed me with the same small blush she'd shown at Umberto's. Her hand came up to cover mine, her head tilting to press her cheek against my palm.

She turned and kissed my palm. "Thanks, Dad."

I found the gesture remarkably loving, edging towards sensual. It preoccupied me as I prepared an omelet for us both. "Will you make the toast?" I asked as I blended eggs. "The key to a great omelette is cream, not milk, Michelle," I opined. "And don't over-mix the eggs. You never beat them, just blend them gently, like this. Having an omelette pan helps, too. And, remember to preheat the pan. Are you listening to me? I'm letting you in on a long held family secret passed down to me from your great, great, great . . . um, great something. Michelle? Stop laughing. This is your heritage we're discussing."

I heard her giggle, a lovely sound.

"Goof," she said softly.

As we made Sunday morning breakfast, Michelle casually bumped into me, I steered her away by the shoulders to get into the fridge for cheddar and chives, she reached around me to start the coffee maker, and I found the physical contact very pleasing.

Michelle was sparkling, brilliant green eyes twinkling, gracing me with a tinkle of laughter, a shove of a hip, and, perhaps the best of all, touching me too, a hand on my back, or around my waist as she watched the omelette cook, or occasionally rubbing my shoulder blade. Her small touches pleased me no end. They felt surprisingly intimate, yet I liked them.

"Mmmm, good Dad," Michelle said taking another bite of her omelette.

SHE FELT LIKE SHE was floating. The sun was bright in the kitchen, a cloudless blue sky visible through the glass doors, the pool looking blue and refreshing. Dad's small touches were sending little shivers through her. This morning he seemed so loving, his smile so bright. Somehow she felt different. It was as if Dad was more than just Dad. His large hands felt warm wherever they touched her, leaving residual traces of love. She watched him carefully, liking the smile crinkles at the corners of his dark expressive eyes. It was a perfect start to a lazy Sunday, she thought. And she was going to spend the whole day with Dad. That seemed perfect.

MY DAUGHTER BENT FORWARD to take a bite of omelette and I watched as she used a finger to push her long dark chestnut hair back around her dainty ear. Her ear was quite lovely, I thought, and her unconscious action was so intensely feminine. But looking at her ear, I thought it would look even nicer with an earring, maybe a gold ring. No, a diamond stud would be perfect.

Suddenly I realised Michelle wore no jewelery at all. I'd never seen her with any; another sign of her problem. My immediate reaction was to ask her why? But I hesitated. I knew why. It would draw attention to her. I also knew if I suggested she wear jewellery she'd brush me off, as she did with any suggestion I made over her appearance. This time I decided to try a different approach. "Michelle, let's go to the mall. I have some things to shop for," I suggested before finishing my last sip of coffee.

MICHELLE THOUGHT A TRIP to the mall might be fun, especially with Dad. He'd probably head right for the tool department at Sears. He was a tool fanatic, buying some odd power tool and then searching for a project just so he could use it. His workshop was chock-a-block with power tools he'd used once. It was also full of half finished projects. "You just want to buy more tools, Dad," she said with a smile. She really liked his grin. Dad was totally lovable.

"Well, that too, now you mention it. Maybe we can stop by Sears. There's this bench saw that's been flirting outrageously with me for quite a while."

Michelle laughed. "You're such a kid, Dad. I'll go change." She went to him, bent and kissed him on his cheek. "You need to shave, too," she added with a gentle caress of his shoulder before leaving the kitchen. Climbing the stairs, she wondered why things felt different with Dad. She felt closer to him, more personal perhaps. Whatever it was, she decided she liked it.

I WASN'T SURPRISED BY Michelle's jeans and big sweat shirt. Despite being covered, she could not hide her beauty, so perfect in my eyes. Smiling, I held out my hand and took hers. "Bout time, Honey," I said, "I've been waiting half an hour, at least."

"Don't exaggerate," she answered with a smile. "I heard you come down five minutes ago."

"Well it felt like hours. Why is it women always keep men waiting? It's a dominance thing, isn't it?"

Michelle smiled again. "Right, Dad. It's all about power, and you better remember it."

We strolled through the mall, occasionally Michelle dragging me into a kitchen store or me dragging her towards electronic stores. She'd give me these cute sighs as if she was suffering for me, and smile at me as I explained why we needed a universal touch screen remote control for our TV; how it would make changing channels so much more exciting, don't you think? She seemed a bit confused when we walked into Oliver's Jewellers but followed me around as I pointed out rings, watches and bracelets that caught my eye.

"Nice," I'd say. She'd mmm or nod. But her eyes grew wide when I politely asked to see a pair of diamond stud earrings. "What do you think?" I asked casually, noting how she looked at them as if they were illegal designer jeans, almost lusting but knowing she couldn't.

Michelle stared at my hand as I held one small stud, pushed her hair away from her ear, and pretended to inspect how it would look on her. "Yes. I think these will do very nicely," I said to the lovely lady behind the counter. "We'll take these."

"Dad!" Michelle exhaled, shocked. "We can't get these."

"Is there somewhere nearby that pierces ears?" I asked the nice saleslady.

"Dad!" Michelle was now pulling on my arm.

"There is, Sir. Two stores over to your left," the saleslady said with a smile, pointing out the door while taking my AmEx card with her other hand, clearly worried I might heed my daughter's advice.

"Dad!" Michelle started tugging hard.

"Huh? What?" I pretended as if I hadn't heard her or noticed how she was tugging at my arm. Looking at her beautiful face I could see the beginning of refusal build, her eyes clouding and eyebrows knitting. Before she could do or say anything, I cupped her soft cheek, caressing it with my thumb. "For me, Honey, please?" I asked softly.

My heart ached when she blushed, pushing her cheek into my palm. I saw a battle going on in her eyes, her automatic shying away from being attractive at war with wanting to please her father.

"Please, Sweetheart?" I asked quietly. My heart broke when she nodded bashfully. It seemed so hard for her and it shouldn't be; it just shouldn't be.

MICHELLE'S HEART WAS THUMPING in her chest. She felt flushed and knew she was blushing. At first, panic hit when she realised Dad was buying the diamond studs. She wanted to tell Dad not to, kept pulling his arm to get his attention. I can't wear those, they're way too pretty. And then Dad had cupped her face and looked at her with such love burning in his eyes, his expression pleading with her. Her heart had thumped hard and she felt something melt inside her. She felt love emerge; a different kind of love, the type that made her want to do anything for Dad, make him happy, make him smile, make him look at her like that always.

Walking towards the car, lagging slightly behind Dad, Michelle played with one of the studs in her ears. She still felt a bit faint, a bit flushed. It had nothing to do with the diamond studs, although they were really pretty. No. It was a reaction to Dad. After her ears were pierced, they'd walked out of the store and Dad turned, lifted her chin and brushed her hair behind her ears, studying her intently, "Perfect, I think you're quite perfect," he'd said with a handsome smile.

She could still feel where he kissed her cheek, a hot spot. She replayed the look he'd given her, so intense, so proud and full of love it made her tremble, her knees weak.

I WAS VERY PLEASED. I was walking on clouds, my heart was singing and I felt happier than I had in a long time. Michelle looked spectacular with diamond studs. They worked exceptionally well with her attractive small blushes. It seemed she was shy now she had earrings. Every time I smiled at her or subtly complimented her, she'd turn a lovely pink. It was completely endearing and intensely attractive. My little girl was stunningly pretty, I thought. I told her how I felt, what I saw, what was in me. "I think you're quite perfect," I'd said, rewarded with a beautiful blush. "I love those ear studs on you" I'd said, my reward, her fingers touching one, green eyes bright. "I think you're gorgeous, Sweetheart," I'd mentioned, my heart aching at her pleasure and the way she looked at me.

I wasn't done yet, though. I had plans. Dinner plans.

Twilight descended, the sky turning a dark royal blue in the West, a line of fiery red on the horizon the only trace of today's sun. With the pool light on, the water appeared turquoise and luminescent; almost neon. I'd sent Michelle upstairs to change, asking her to dress up a little. While she was gone, I set the outside patio table with a white tablecloth, two candles, and a single red geranium. Inside in the kitchen I finished the roasted root vegetables with a drizzle of balsamic reduction and turned the New York steaks.

I rather liked how everything was coming together. It felt so romantic. Very nice. I uncorked a Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon and poured a glass, sipping the rich, silky red as I leaned back against the counter, mentally double-checking everything.

Michelle took my breath away when she entered the kitchen. She'd pulled her hair back into a long ponytail that fell to her rear, her face looking freshly scrubbed, twin diamonds sparkling almost as brightly as her green eyes. She wore a simple burgundy red blouse and black pleated mid-thigh skirt, short-heeled black shoes giving her a little height that emphasised her slender, barely pubescent body. Her face was so pretty. Her large eyes glanced outside and widened at the sight the table I'd set. She turned back to me, her smile searing me. But what hit me hard, a sledge hammer against my chest that tore my breath away, was her blouse. Michelle had two buttons undone! My Michelle!

"It's so . . . romantic," she said in a gentle voice, green eyes sparkling with excitement.

I wanted to rush forward and hug her. I wanted to congratulate her, pick her up and spin with her in my arms, and tell her how proud I was that she'd opened two buttons. It was stupid. Yet her gesture was so significant, a huge milestone. Instead, I took a deep steadying breath and tried my hardest to ignore it. But I couldn't.

"Yes, romantic," I said, "You deserve it."

There was a slight pause; I think I might have been staring.

"Dad?"

"Hmmm?"

"Should we eat?"

"Oh. Well of course we should." I jumped into action, plating the steaks, hoping they weren't over-cooked now, arranging the oven-roasted root vegetables and, balancing the two plates with my glass of wine, led Michelle out to the patio.

As soon as I put the plates down, I pulled her chair out to seat her, charmed by a pretty flush enhanced by bright green eyes.

Dinner was wonderful. Michelle and I chatted about nothing; movies, actors, music, and even new TV shows rumoured to be on the fall schedule. I had eyes only for Michelle, loving how her eyes would sparkle so beautifully in the candlelight, her white teeth flashing as she laughed at my suggestion life was better in black and white, at least it seemed that way if you watched black and white movies, "and imagine how easy it would be to dress, Honey. You'd never have to worry about colours clashing." She laughed harder as I wistfully reminisced about the touch screen remote that got away today, explaining how I could still hear its mournful call, I'm so lonely.

I watched my daughter come alive in front of me and it made my heart sing. I watched her hand unconsciously reach to close the two buttons at her neck, saw her pause and through a force of will, take her hand away. It made my heart ache for the battle she was waging.

I watched my beautiful daughter, so perfect in my eyes, reach and touch a diamond stud in her ear and blush shyly every time. It was stunningly attractive to me. I watched my daughter watch me intently when she didn't think I could see. I saw love, maybe adoration in her green eyes that touched me deeply.

As we finished dessert, chocolate fondue and fragrant, ripe strawberries, I took a last sip of wine feeling full and relaxed and leaned back from the table. Stars could be seen faintly, the moon almost full and bright. Candles were half burned and crickets had started their nightly song. It was very romantic.

Michelle came around the table and sat in my lap, her arms over my shoulders. "Thanks, Dad," she smiled shyly, one hand rising to touch a diamond stud.

"No, I'm the one who should thank you for wearing them for me. You make me so proud, Michelle," I said brushing a stray strand of hair behind her small delicate ear. My eye caught sight of a scar at her neck. Involuntarily I followed it down, surprised when I saw the creamy white edges of two widely spaced small breasts, braless, firm, very, very feminine. It made my breath hitch. Embarrassed at ogling my daughter down her blouse, I looked up at her.

Her eyes burned with intensity. She studied me for a moment.

"Dad? Can I have a kiss?" she asked softly.

I kissed her soft cheek gently, my arms around her slender waist. She felt so light on my lap.

"No. A real kiss."

I was lost in the moment, charmed by sweet blushes, adoring attention, and the romance of our meal.

Pools of green drew me in, whirlpools of love, eyes that tugged and hypnotised. It felt like it was the right thing to do, the right expression of a love I felt so strongly. It just seemed natural to move close, lose myself in my little girl's green eyes, her delicate scent filling my senses. It just seemed right.

It was. It was incredibly exciting to kiss her soft lips, to kiss my daughter. It was incredible to hear her almost purr and feel her pull me tight. It was incredible to see green eyes wink out as eyelids closed, head tilted. It was perfect, made more so when I thought I felt the tip of a tongue touch my lips as the kiss ended.

Michelle rested her head on my shoulder saying nothing. I couldn't help trying to peek down her blouse. I just couldn't help it. My little girl was no longer so little.

MICHELLE LAY IN BED, her mind busy going over the day. She touched her diamond studs gently with a smile, feeling warm as she remembered Dad's eyes as he looked at them. She frowned slightly remembering the struggle she'd had, her hands trembling as she forced herself to undo two buttons on her blouse. It was a herculean effort, her hands feeling like lead, fingers numb as she willed herself, come on, come on, you can do it, it's for Dad. She'd almost cried from the effort it took. But it had been so worth it. Seeing Dad's eyes open wide, and the joy that seemed to slowly suffuse his expression, was wonderful. But best of all was seeing Dad trying to peek down her blouse. It had made her feel so sexy. Imagine! Dad wanting to peek at my boobs!

On her back in bed, a flush of heat went through Michelle's body. She shucked her nightgown, dropping it on the floor. For the first time in forever she felt attractive and it was a strange and thrilling feeling. She didn't feel ashamed of the ugly scar. She wasn't beset by fear at the thought of Dad seeing it. Dad loved her, no matter what. Dad cared, proving it with every action. Even tonight he'd set such a romantic dinner, candles and white tablecloth. He even held her chair, paid attention to her with those riveting dark brown eyes that seemed to reach into her. She gently touched her breasts, remembering.

Oh, and the kiss . . .

Michelle's hands moved, exploring and teasing all the arousing spots, sighing deeply, images of Dad floating through her mind. She knew what she wanted.

MOONLIGHT PALED THE COLORS of my room, turning them into pastels and shades of grays. Staring at the ceiling I replayed the kiss, feeling a slight tumescence, a surprising stir of arousal. Michelle's kiss had been soft and gentle, just as I imagined a young girl's kiss would be. But it had sent a bolt of electricity through me, stirred emotions and feelings I didn't know I had when she'd melted into the kiss, an action so sensual. It ordered me to see her as a sensual being, as a girl who was maturing, pubescence in all its glory.

Thinking back to the pool, I saw Michelle differently. I saw the small mounds pressed flat by a chaste bathing suit. I saw slender young hips, the gentle swell of her bottom, the slender curves of her thighs. I saw the mound of her pubis pressed against a plain bathing suit, how it curved, how it filled her groin, how it seemed so obvious between her legs.

I replayed Michelle holding my hand against her cheek that morning, how she turned and kissed my palm. The memory brought on an erection. Suddenly it seemed intensely arousing, intensely loving. I remembered the tiniest touch of her tongue on my lips, so fleeting it might have been my imagination. My erection strengthened.

All the little things we'd done together had somehow coalesced, made me see Michelle differently. I felt a powerful tug. I wanted more. I knew what I wanted now.

"Michelle?" I whispered, standing at her bedroom door, moonlight bright.

She turned her head, green eyes looking at me. A smile curled her sweet mouth. She pulled the sheet aside slightly. "I knew you'd come to me, Dad," she said quietly.

MICHELLE KNEW. SHE KNEW from that one kiss that she and Dad were going to become lovers. There was nothing she could put her finger on, no way of articulating it. But she knew from the moment Dad's lips touched hers; Dad was hers. He was going to be her lover.

AS MICHELLE DREW BACK the sheet, I gasped, "Sweetheart." Michelle was naked under the sheet, spectacularly naked. What it must have taken for her to bare herself to me was beyond my comprehension. I wanted to take a moment to study her, but I also wanted to kiss her, tell her how I understood her courage, and hold my daughter in my arms, hug her naked body, love her.

Slipping into her bed, I saw how the wonders pubescence had graced her with small espresso-cup-sized breasts that appeared firm, topped with dark pink areolae and little nipples, a long sexy slender body that, on its side, had sensual curves, and nestled between her thighs, a small pubic bush, immature, a light dusting of silky soft hair too new to have curled. I saw the knotted scar that had haunted her psyche all these years, a darker line standing out starkly in the moonlight.

Pushing Michelle onto her back, I bent and kissed the scar gently. I rose up on my elbow and looked into her eyes. "You're beautiful, Sweetheart, perfect in my eyes."

I knew the battle was over when Michelle blushed, her eyes sparkling, and she let me see her naked body without hesitancy. And I knew I should have stopped. But a line had been crossed, a line that demarcated daughter on one side and budding, sensual, beautiful and attractive female on the other. I gladly crossed that line, aware, eyes open, completely taken with a young girl so perfect in my eyes.

"Dad," she sighed with a smile that wrenched at my heart, her arms pulling me into a kiss. Soft lips touched mine and I heard a moan when her tongue hesitantly touched me, surprised that the moan was coming from me. I loved how she gently probed, loved feeling her tongue slip into my mouth. On one elbow, holding the top of her head, the other resting on her side at her waist, I kissed my little girl, my erection straining in my boxers, pulsing rhythmically. I kissed her and drowned.

Her eyes opened when the kiss ended, a shy smile growing. Reaching down, Michelle took my hand and drew it up to her small perky breast. I caressed it with my thumb, gently cupped it, so petite, and carefully fondled it. "Perfect," I whispered, awed at how sexy it was, sweet and young, firm and resilient. My erection strained painfully.

Rolling out of bed, I stood and dropped my boxers, sliding back into bed under Michelle's watchful gaze.

"It's big, Dad," she said softly. "Does it hurt like that?"

"No, Baby. It feels good," I said, taking her hand carefully and guiding it down. "Here, you can touch it."

Michelle pulled her hand from mine, turning onto her side, pushing me on my shoulder. "Lie back," she instructed. Rising, she bent over me, a reversal of our positions, her sparkling green eyes so full of adoration it made my heart constrict. Her breasts formed perfect, sexy little cones, roseate areolae and small soft nipples drawing my eyes. I wanted to kiss them. She bent closer, her mouth descending. I felt her breath on me. Smiling, she sucked my lower lip then kissed me, her small tongue slipping into my mouth. She broke the kiss just as I was reaching for her, smiling at my moan. "Not yet," she whispered heatedly.

Moving up slightly she placed a perfect, firm little breast against my lips. I moaned again, opened my mouth and sucked it gently, teasing the nipple with my tongue; heaven. Through my mouth I felt Michelle shudder. She pulled back, smiling, "Nice, Dad," and kissed her way down my chest. I had a raging erection that pulsed strongly when a small hand gently wrapped around the shaft. I wondered where she'd learned how to be so sexy, so seductive. Who had taught her? Who had told her?

Another deep, deep groan rumbled in my chest. Michelle shuffled down, smiled at me with her green eyes, bent and kissed the wet tip of my erection, so sexy, so, so sexy. "Do you like it? Did it feel good?" she asked quietly, blushing sweetly, the tip of her tongue tasting her lips. "It doesn't taste like anything." Her hand squeezed then, paying rapt attention, she stroked my shaft once, smiling when clear precum beaded on the tip. Lifting my head, I stared as her small hot tongue caressed the crown and collected precum. I'd never experienced anything like it. I'd never imagined how sexy it would be to see my thirteen-year-old blush shyly, so sweetly, contrasting sharply with her actions, my little girl tasting me, trying hard to please her father, be sexy. A deep, deep shudder shook my body.

I'd had enough, my limit reached. Any more of her sweet arousing attention and I was going to cum, and that wasn't what I had in mind. Reaching for Michelle, I pulled her up, rolling her onto her back. "My turn, Baby," I whispered with a smile.

Rising, I straddled her slender thighs and gazed down on her naked body. "So beautiful, so sexy," I whispered under my breath, Michelle's eyes sparkling at me. She took my breath away. Slender, petite, hair spread like an angel over the sheet, a face shining with shy pleasure, small sexy breasts with flushed areolae, a narrowing waist, gently flared hips with a seductive delta between, her sexy pubescent pussy rising majestically, and dark pubic hair seemingly silky soft forming a small thin bush. My heart thumped in a tight chest as I spotted her little clitoris nestled between plump labia.

Bending forward, I kissed Michelle's breasts, her fingers combing through my hair as she moaned and arched her back up. I saw the small white scars on her skin, and kissed them. I kissed the scar on her sternum following it up to her neck, and nuzzled her neck, inhaling the delicate scent of my daughter, the sweet seductive scent of youth. I cupped her chin and caressed her cheek with my thumb. Her blush sent shock waves of arousal through me, my erection raging, the damp crown touching her soft tummy.

"I love you, Michelle," I whispered. Her blush intensified, she covered my hand with hers, turned and kissed my palm, an intensely loving action.

"Love you too, Dad."

SHIVERS SHOOK MICHELLE'S BODY. She felt her arousal, her pussy almost pulsing and aching. She could feel the slippery moisture of her pussy leaking and sliding down between her buttocks. Never had she imagined being touched could be so arousing. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined how exciting it was to see Dad with such passion and love burning as he looked at her, making her feel so sexy, so desirable, so pretty. And she'd never understood the sensuality of touch; how Dad's hands could give her goose bumps when he stroked her sides or touched her breasts. His thumb seemed to be connected to her pussy when it caressed her nipples or caressed her cheek. And, God, Dad's kisses, so loving, so sexy. They made her heart skip.

The love she felt was like a pressure straining inside her, desperate to get out, needing release. Blushing at her need, feeling so horny, she reached down and gently held Dad's thick erection, pushing it against her, thick, rigid. She spread slippery moisture on her tummy. Holding Dad's hard erection tighter, need burning inside her, Michelle pushed it down, trying to get it to her aching pussy.

"Dad," she pleaded, "Now. Please."

BLOOD POUNDED THRUGH ME, roaring in my ears. I couldn't remember ever being so aroused. Rising, my erection rigid at a forty-five-degree angle, precum sliding down the shaft, I stared as my daughter looked at me with heat burning. I stared as Michelle wriggled, withdrawing her legs from under me. I stared, my heart pounding as my little girl parted her legs to rest her knees on my thighs, her small cleft parting. It flowered open, plump labia flushed red from arousal, dusted with silky soft pubic hairs, her reddened clitoris emerging in its full glory. I stopped breathing when I saw the glistening dark shadow at the bottom of her sexy cleft, below two immature inner labia, a small, small dark shadow; my daughter's vagina, tiny.

It looked impossibly small. Fear and desire flooded me. God I wanted her. I tore my eyes from her sexy pussy and looked at my precious girl, so perfect in my eyes, fear and desire waging a war. She must have seen my hesitation.

Michelle smiled at me, so lovingly, so sweetly, her hand reaching down between her legs, gently holding my erection with her fingertips, pushing it down and sliding the tip through her cleft to rub over her clit and pop over her pubic bone.

"Here," she said softly, tremulously, nestling my rigid erection to her opening.

I almost came when I glanced down. Michelle had positioned my crown with her plump labia stretched around the flared crown, her clitoris pressing down against it. I looked monstrous next to her little pussy. And the sight made my erection rage, swell, and ooze. Michelle tightened her legs over my thighs, her pelvis moving up, my crown flattening against her pussy, sexy labia bulging. She relaxed and repeated it, my crown pressing, going nowhere. When she relaxed, my erection pulsed and popped up over her mound. Jesus I was hard.

She moaned and started reaching. Grabbing my shaft, I slipped the tip down, rubbing her clitoris, teasing her. Michelle's hips started moving, rubbing her clit against my crown. Sliding through her now-slippery cleft, I found her entrance again and pushed slightly, shuddering as plump labia spread, stretched and faded from red to pink. Michelle moaned, her face frowning, her stomach muscles appearing as they tensed. I pushed slightly harder and felt her begin to stretch, her opening reluctantly yielding to me.

"No," she whispered suddenly, "Too big, Dad." She jerked, her hands reaching out to push me and all at once my crown popped into her, gripped tightly in a tiny vagina.

"Ow! Hurts," she moaned, eyes scrunched closed. Then, in complete contrast, as I was about to pull back, Michelle curled her legs around my ass and tugged with her heels. I watched amazed as another inch slipped into her, a tight inch, Michelle's vagina almost pulsing on my erection, a small ring of blood appearing, labia so stretched. My erection looked monstrous as it penetrated her little pussy. I wanted to pull out and push in at the same time, conflicting emotions thundering through me. Instead I did nothing, holding my throbbing erection still, pulsing, afraid to proceed forward, reluctant to withdraw.

I felt her relax. Michelle's eyes popped open, a look of wonder appearing. "It's in," she said breathlessly. Her inquisitive squeeze almost had me seeing double, her vagina painfully tight.

"Relax, Sweetheart," I begged, arousal storming my body. Reaching out I caressed her petite breasts gently. It was an intoxicating position to be in; the tip of my erection buried in my daughter's tiny pussy, caressing her small breasts, admiring her sexy slender body laid out before me, her small thighs spread, knees on my thighs. It was incredible to feel my erection swelling rhythmically inside her young body, gripped tightly by a warm, moist velvety sheath.

Moving carefully I withdrew slightly, her labia clinging to my shaft, clitoris rising. Reversing, I carefully pushed into her, precum making her deliciously slippery, another inch slipping inside, her clit dipping to kiss my shaft, Michelle moaning softly. I paused. This was heaven.

She smiled a radiant smile. "Good, Dad. You feel so big inside me. Do it again, gently."

I withdrew again, my eyes locked on the sight of her labia clinging to my shaft. As the ridge of my crown oozed out of her tight, tight vagina I reversed, slipping in more easily, her internal walls caressing my crown, a tight sheath slipping down my shaft. In a slow, easy motion I slipped all but an inch of my erection into Michelle, her little pubescent pussy stretched, such an incredible sight.

"Hold me," she asked, soft eyes pleading, her arms reaching up for me. I pressed in a little harder as I bent forward. Her hands reached for me, eyes wide, love and passion burning. "Please," she pleaded.

As my erection nestled to her deepest part, pressed against her end, I shuddered, erection swelling. God, but my baby was so tight. Groaning, I gave into her. Bending, I slipped my hands under her body, feeling her spine and her shoulder blades. Pausing to kiss her sexy nipples and scar, I lifted her light body in a smooth move, bringing her up to me, hugging her petite body to me, holding my darling. As Michelle's arms wrapped around my neck, she sank down, the final inch of my erection forced into her, my crown pressed firmly against her firm rubbery cervix. Her sighs of pleasure sent shivers through me; such a sexy sound from my little girl.

"Dad," she sighed, "Feels good."

"God, Baby," I whispered, "you're so tight, so incredible. I love you so much."

"Love you too, Dad," she sighed, her face nuzzling my neck, her arms around my chest.

With Michelle holding me I let my hands sweep down her back and under her long, long dark chestnut hair to cup a seductive little buttock in each hand, my fingertips touching where we were joined. I flexed my erection, deliberately making it grow and strain, God, I was buried in my little girl, my tight little girl, so incredible.

Michelle's lips touched my neck in a gentle kiss. "I felt that," she whispered.

"Are you okay, Sweetheart? You don't hurt, do you?"

Michelle raised her head, looked at me, eyes sparkling. "Uh-uh. But I ache. You're really stretching me. Do I feel good?" she asked with a agonisingly arousing clench of her pussy.

"Jesus. Don't do that," I pleaded as a spark of arousal hit me. I was so aroused I could have cum with no further stimulation.

"You like it?" she asked, her eyes changing as she clenched again, a flit of mischievous enjoyment flashing through them.

"Damn, Michelle. You're going to finish me before we've even started."

Her giggle was agony, the opening of her vagina clamping down on my shaft so hard it was almost painful.

MICHELLE FELT HER BODY SHAKE uncontrollably with small tremors, her nipples aching where they pressed to Dad's chest. He felt so big in her arms, smelled so masculine, his warm brown eyes bathing her in adoration. She was still lost in the feeling of being so stretched. Dad's erection so thick and long she felt absolutely stuffed. And she had it all! All of it was inside her! In her! God, Dad, I love you so much.

Dad made her feel so beautiful, the way he looked at her, such adoration, made her ache with pride. When he'd kissed her scar she'd melted, almost cried at his gentleness. She could feel his erection pulsing inside her, pressing against her so deeply, his big hands holding her bottom. Tentatively she moved her hips, felt a tingle where his crown rubbed her deep inside, right where she ached. Crossing her ankles behind him, arms hugging his big chest, she tried again, another pulse of pleasure blossoming deep inside, her clit tingling.

She nestled her face to his neck, inhaled his sexy scent, and moved her hips again, moaning as a spike of pleasure coursed through her starting at her clit and charging up to make her nipples ache. This was it. This was what she wanted.

"Good, Dad," she whispered into his neck quietly, her eyes closing as his hands moved her bum up and down slightly, helping her, guiding her. Another bigger spike of pleasure hit, her clit scraping on his thick erection. "Again," she sighed softly.

HOLDING MICHELLE I GENTLY moved her. It was sweet agony. Her pussy held me so tightly, my crown massaged with every shudder of her body. I could feel her heated breath against my neck; her arms felt good holding me.

I was in heaven, fucking my little girl so gently was thrilling. I'd never felt my erection so stiff. It felt huge, massive, swollen, gripped by a velvety vice. Michelle moaned when I lifted her bum and let her down, her body twitching. Her aroused moan excited me even more. Gradually, so gently, a rhythm started to emerge, lifting her small bum, letting her down, my little girl trembling against me; Jesus, so good.

Michelle tightened her hug, her pelvis beginning to curl. I knew she was rubbing her clit on my shaft. She excited me, driving my passion higher with small sighs and little murmurs, hot breath on my neck. Gradually I lengthened the strokes, lifting her higher, letting her body weight slip her down my erection. She started moaning, clenching, hips curling. Slowly, gently, we fucked, moving together, pressure building, hugging my little lover, holding my little girl.

"Faster," she whimpered, her legs clutching around me. I was close, but not there when she gasped. "Cumming, Daddy!" She grunted. "Cumming!" Her small body went rigid, trembling. Breath whooshed as she shoved herself down hard on my cock. Michelle cried out, her sexy body writhing as she humped my erection without any help from me. She jerked, sweet little buttocks flexed and clenched, her vagina gripping me with each wave of her orgasm. It was stunning, sexy and so, so arousing. I didn't care that I wasn't ready. Feeling my little girl climax was the most wonderful feeling in the world, bar none. It was exquisitely sensual, intensely exciting, perfect, quite perfect.

Michelle collapsed against me, her body shaking and twitching, limp, breath panting. With a hard, hard pulsing erection buried in her little pussy I held my child and drowned in the experience she'd just graced me with. I held her close, murmured how much I loved her, stroked her back, her long silky hair. I held my little girl tight, my heart bursting, erection buried to the hilt in her slender, sexy body.

Eventually I felt her stir, giving me another clench of my erection, this time more gentle, thank goodness.

"You're still hard," she whispered. "Didn't you cum?"

"No, Honey. Maybe next time."

Michelle raised her head from my shoulder, soft green eyes studying me, eyes that had lost passionate arousal and now glowed with love. She smiled. "Your turn," she said moving her bum slightly. "Cum in me, Dad."

"Jesus, Baby," I moaned as her snug vagina hugged my erection. I was hard, rigid, and my daughter's pussy felt spectacular as it gently clenched and released, clenched and released, as if milking me. Her eyes seduced me, pulling at me, tugging at my heart. Her slender body felt so good in my arms, so petite, so sweet and desirable.

Michelle reached up to hug my neck. Her eyes studied me as she started to undulate against me, rubbing the tips of her firm little breasts against my chest, lifting and lowering her pussy slightly, curling her bum in to push me deep against her cervix. When I groaned, she smiled softly, pleased. Her head fell to my shoulder and, with soft seductive whispers, Michelle started to encourage me, "Cum, Dad," she whispered. "I want you to cum. I want to feel you cum. Please?"

Moaning, I held her delectable little buttocks, lifting her, letting my erection almost slip out, and reversing before the crown emerged. Slowly, erotically, I started fucking my little girl, pushing deep to press against her little womb.

Michelle drove me nuts, sensing my need, my urgency, whispering, "Yes, Dad, cum."

My balls grew heavy, my groin grew heavy, and I fucked my little darling faster, lifting and lowering her. An orgasm stirred as I held her sweet buttocks, fucking her, fucking my little girl, so tight, so incredible. My climax began as she murmured encouragement in my ear, curling her bum to take me deep, so tight, so exciting.

Thunder rolled.

"Oh Jesus, cummng Baby," I groaned, the first blissful release hitting me, erection swelling, semen spurting as I held my girl tight, buried in her. My orgasm charged in, raging over me. I withdrew from her tight grip and thrust, a second hard, hard explosion ravaging me, my erection jammed to her cervix, thick semen flooding Michelle's womb, pleasure bursting.

"Oh God, Oh God." A massive wave punished me, erection swelling, semen burning up my shaft. I exploded so hard I gasped, semen jetting into my daughter's pussy, exquisite pleasure erupting. Suddenly I had no control. Holding her sweet buttocks I fucked her little body in short strokes, firing semen with every glorious, blissful thrust, cumming in my little girl, cumming, pleasure punishing me. I came, stomach cramping, body rigid, spurting, spurting, agony hitting, cumming Baby, God cumming!

With a deep groan, my orgasm crested and released my body. I shook and trembled, hugging Michelle to me tight, her pussy wet, my penis softening only slightly, peace and pleasure suffusing me, my heart still racing. I inhaled Michelle's seductive scent, drawing it deeply into my lungs, and sighed. Perfect. My little girl was perfect.

It was Michelle's fingers combing though my hair and the sound of her voice murmuring to me that brought me back. I'd just experienced a crushing orgasm and my love was now stronger than ever, a love burning brightly inside.

"Jesus, Michelle," I exclaimed, "you're gonna kill me!"

Her bright pleased laughter made her pussy clench and expel me. Grabbing a sexy little girl, I rolled off the bed, carrying her in my arms. Michelle giggled as I walked through the house, her legs locked around my waist.

"Dad?" she started as I stepped through the sliding glass doors onto the patio, then screamed as I threw her into the pool. I was glad for our privacy as I'd left the pool light on. I watched a naked Michelle surface laughing, bright, my heart squeezing. "YOU GOOF!" she yelled. When she spotted me still standing naked at the edge of the pool, a sexy, seductive look grew in her beautiful green eyes. She rolled and floated on her back, exposing herself completely, unashamedly.

"Like?" she asked as I stared rudely at her gloriously sexy, naked thirteen-year-old body. "Feel like a swim?"

Michelle was perfect, absolutely perfect in my eyes.

I grinned. Unbelievably, I felt a stir in my groin. Michelle spotted it and giggled. I dived into the pool with some interesting adventurous ideas floating through my head.