I have a story to tell. Think of it as my confession even though in hindsight I'm not sure I was wrong. I don't think I could have changed the course of events that brought me to this point and, to be brutally honest, I'm glad I didn't. I'll let you be the judge. You tell me after hearing my story. I believe you'll understand, even sympathize.

We all grow up having certain concepts of ourselves. We all see ourselves through our own biased eyes, eyes influenced by life experiences and future expectations. Some people are lucky to go through life with an angel on their shoulder whispering in their ear, guiding them and helping them see the bright side of life, and helping them find joy and laughter despite all odds. Some are unlucky enough to go through life with the Devil on their shoulder, guiding them into rash behavior, foolishness, and into a life full of dissatisfaction and disillusionment. You know those with the Devil on their shoulder. They frown and rarely laugh. When they do it comes out as mirth and distain and envy.

Then there are those like me. The worst kind. We're not good enough to have an angel or bad enough to have a Devil. We're left alone, lost, our shoulder empty, making our way through life and making it up as we go, accepting the hit or miss of our decisions and far too often not understanding how those decisions impact our happiness.

Life wasn't easy. It never had been. I was an only child of a single parent. My mother worked herself into an early grave, my father never known to me.

Nurture. It's a strange and foreign word. It suggests comforting and loving by a parent. It hints at warmth and guidance and encouragement and teaching. I've given the word a lot of thought over my life. I've had reason to. It's something I never experienced.

My mother was a provider of nourishment, a roof over my head, stern discipline, and absolutely no emotional warmth. I was her daily reminder of my father, a man she hated with soul-sapping ferocity.

Confession number one - I never loved my mother. I'm not sure I even liked her.

At seventeen years old I left school and my mother. The school was relieved, as was my mother. I was not a popular boy with either of them. I wasn't stupid either. I knew what I was. I was two steps away from being amoral, five steps away from being incarcerated.

It would have been easy to slip into the criminal life. It would have been easy to become a nothing laborer for some nothing construction company, a nameless payee they'd hand out wages to every second Friday. I was just smart enough to recognize my decrepit future so I made a decision and joined the armed forces.

Confession number two - I hated regimented life.

I hated the army. I hated conformity. I hated being told what to do. I hated wearing a uniform. I hated that my socks matched. And I hated the fact that enlisting was the smartest decision I ever made. In the army I found discipline. I found strength. I found pride. I discovered the true me that had been suppressed throughout my life. I found an outlet for the rebelliousness that plagued me.

At twenty-three years old I left the armed forces and went to college - thank you Army.

Confession number three - I loved college for all the wrong reasons.

I loved all the young girls, those sweetly innocent females living away from home for the first time, feeling their freedom and exploring their sexuality, their innocence so attractive. I loved being slightly older, slightly more mature, slightly more experienced, slightly more exciting to them - I'd been in the Army after all!

I dedicated much of my time to chasing skirts and enough of my time to studying so I could graduate.

At twenty-seven years old I graduated with a degree in finance and with a new wife, Laurie. That year I became a financial planner with McLaughlin and Davies, a mid-sized heavy machinery manufacturer, and Laurie became pregnant by accident. She hated it. Laurie was dedicated to her body, to her looks, and to having fun. Those were most of the reasons why I'd been attracted to her. She was vivacious, the life of the party, and the most amazing sexual partner I'd ever had.

Unfortunately those traits didn't work well as a mother. Laurie hated her pregnancy, hated married life, hated her body. Motherly instincts failed her when Sydney was born; my chestnut-haired, blue-grey-eyed little girl with five freckles on the bridge of her nose arrived into the world with a wail of annoyed inconvenience.

Confession number four - I loved Sydney much, much more than I loved Laurie.

Laurie was a terrible mother. In her I saw the shadow of my mother; an uncaring, emotionally distant, self-centered, sharp-tongued woman. It was no real surprise when Laurie announced she wanted a divorce, to get away from the backwater mid-west town and the drudge of her life here. The divorce was uncontested. It was no surprise when she didn't argue over custody of our daughter, either.

I entered a hectic period of life. Until Sydney turned two years old and started talking life was hard. But, my God, once Sydney learned to talk that's what she did. She loved talking so much she'd sit and describe what she was seeing out of the car window from her booster seat, let me know what part of her body she was washing in the tub, and, when on the toilet, proudly announcing at the top of her voice, "I'm peeing, Daddy!"

She'd stand on a chair in the kitchen to see the counter and describe what I was doing as I cooked, and let me know that I was sitting and watching TV when I was right next to her, and then give me a running commentary on what we were watching in case I didn't understand the show - Sesame Street being so complex, you understand. If I wasn't present she'd talk to her stuffed animals, each christened by her, each with distinct personalities, and each with patient ears.

A little-girl personality emerged, one that brightened my day, made my heart swell, brought a smile to my face every day, and made me melt every time she'd hug me tight and tell me she loved me - the only person in the world who did.

The next nine years were the most amazing years that passed far too fast. I was gifted with the ability to be everything to Sydney my mother had never been to me. I showered her with attention and affection, wildly celebrating every success and milestone she achieved, and did what had never been done for me - set rules and guidelines creating a disciplined framework she could relax in, and then let her loose to experience life to the max. She did. I basked in her excitement and her joy of discovery and shuddered in fear with her at Disney and Pixar monsters. I worked all week just for the reward of Sydney crawling all over me in bed on a Saturday morning telling me, "Wake up, Daddy! I'm hungry!"

Confession number five - They were the best years of my life. I wish I could experience them again in an infinite repeating cycle.

Everything seemed to be fine. Life was set. Our small mid-west town in Iowa was somewhat lacking in the areas of culture but made up for it in a tight-knit community full of outside-of-school activities that involved both parents and children.

Softball leagues in the summer and hockey leagues in the winter occupied our weekends and the odd weekday evening. An occasional hobby or interest would be pursued during the week, Sydney trying her hand at ballet ("Too boring, Daddy, but I like the tutu!"), gymnastics, ("It's hard, Daddy! Did you know you can fall?"), and swimming on the school team ("I don't like drinking pool water, Daddy. It tastes yucky."). I enjoyed each and every activity no matter how fleeting it was, and most were very fleeting.

And then Sydney turned twelve years old and my idyllic life collapsed.

Sydney had sprouted like alfalfa starting around ten years old and grew vertically too fast, her limbs growing gangly, her feet too big, her knees knocking. Awkwardness displaced agility as she struggled to adapt to her uncooperative body. I enjoyed that part. There was something goofy about her that I found amusing as heck and, being honest, I adored the snarky frowns she threw my way when I'd laugh at one of her stumbles or comment on a missing tooth or two.

I thought I'd prepared for puberty, too. Like a dutiful father terrified of losing his little girl to maturity, I'd had an embarrassing chat with Sydney about breasts and menarche and pubic hair and body odor. I'd gritted my teeth and forced my way through a discussion of sex, both the physical and emotional aspects, and blushed my way through masturbation and pleasuring oneself. That weekend was very trying.

But Sydney flummoxed me. In her usual buoyant way she announced her breast buds growing and, with great pride, announced the appearance of her first pubic hair. Body odor arrived shortly thereafter much to her embarrassment, which led to daily showers and, one month into her twelfth year, Sydney announced the arrival of her period with a, "Yuk, Dad! Is this really going to happen all my life?"

By the time two periods had come and gone everything had changed.

Sydney's personality changed radically . . . for the worse. I initially attributed it to hormones and patiently waited for it to pass but it didn't. Months slipped by. My daughter became uncommunicative and an expert at grunting unintelligible replies to my questions. She became a hermit, hiding in her room. I lost her affection, no longer the recipients of hugs and, "I love you, Dad," whispers that I had so cherished.

Even worse was her refusal to talk to me about what was going on. Her school grades slipped from a not-quite-A level to an almost-failing-C grade and no pleading on my part could get an explanation from her. She started chewing her fingernails, something she'd never done before, and would absentmindedly eat the ends of her hair.

Sydney stopped looking at me, avoiding my eyes and turning away every time I tried to probe. I sensed no anger in her. She wasn't belligerent. Sydney simply withdrew from my life as if I'd hurt her somehow.

To me it felt like I was now an intruder in her world. Nothing I did was right. For the first time I knew nothing about what was going on in her mind and it scared me. My reaction to being shut out eventually made me slightly bitter. I began to snap at her in my fear for what was happening and the sense of powerlessness that pervaded me. My short temper only made me feel worse and exacerbated the problem.

Confession number six - Sydney's twelfth year was the worst year of my life, bar none.

One by one Sydney's outside activities fell by the wayside with no logical explanation. My outgoing girl became introverted. Friends who used to practically live in our house no longer came to visit her. She mumbled a lot when responding to me and, even worse, began yelling at me, telling me to mind my own business and leave her alone when I pushed her for explanations. Life was Hell. There was a mid-western winter chill in our small house despite it being early summer. In confusion I retreated into depression and Sydney retreated into isolation and ear buds attached to her iPhone.

It's too easy to turn a blind eye to what's right and it was far too easy to let things slide. It takes courage and hard work to fight back. It takes love and care, too.

It was one dinner on a Friday night when I finally dug my heels in, found courage and fought back. It was the first meal we'd had where Sydney uttered not one word. She didn't look at me once. She didn't respond at all and didn't eat; not one bite. The temperature outside was in the nineties but inside it was frigid.

As I sat staring at her across the kitchen table, my food ignored, I finally accepted I was incapable of helping Sydney. I lacked the tools to get through to her, to reach her emotionally. I simply didn't understand what was going on in her mind. But in a flash of clarity I also knew that this was it. I could not let it go on. I knew if I didn't do something now two lives would be ruined and one of those lives was just too precious to me to risk it, the price too high; I cared too much for her.

"Sydney, we can't go on like this. Come Hell or high water we're going to talk," I said with gravity and resolve in my voice.

"No!" she exploded, standing suddenly and leaving the table.

"God dammit, Sydney!" I yelled at her back as she stormed out of the kitchen.

The sound of a bedroom door slamming echoed down the hall. I stared down at the uneaten food on my plate. Oriental chicken breast and fried rice had never looked so unappetizing. The tines of the fork pushed grains of rice here and there. What was I supposed to do now? The first tendrils of deep fear emerged and with them my confusion grew more intense. A sense of failure washed over me and with it came a wave of sadness and loss that made my eyes prickle with unshed tears.

For almost an hour, as food grew cold on the plate, I sat, lost. I had no thoughts. My mind wouldn't formulate a cohesive sentence. I missed Sydney. I needed her in my life like she used to be - bright and smiling and making me happy.

I don't know why I stood. I don't consciously know what I was going to do or where I was going, but I found myself drawn to Sydney's bedroom. Maybe I knew if I knocked she'd reject me which is why I didn't; I just opened the door and entered.

Sydney's room was at once familiar. But what used to be neat and taken care of was now disorganized reflecting a girl who didn't care, another sign of trouble. Stuffed animals were littered about; beloved childhood friends harshly discarded. Makeup and hair brushes and posters that showed the adolescent girl that Sydney was becoming were in disarray. Clothes were haphazardly dropped here and there, a dresser drawer open with tops hanging out. Small bras and panties were tossed in the corner on the floor next to the hamper, not in it. Shoes littered the floor. Her mirrored closet door was open revealing clothes hanging at odd angles and piled underneath.

And on the small twin bed lying curled on her side and facing away from me was my daughter. I saw her body moving slightly and recognized it. My little girl was crying.

I searched for the words that would help her and found none. I ached for my daughter's distress, a physical pain inside that only a father can suffer, and wished I could take that distress away, whatever it was, however steep the cost. I couldn't. I was at a loss. I did the only thing I could think of.

Moving across the room, without a word, I settled myself down on her bed, rolled towards her and gathered my child in my arms, spooning her, hugging her, not one word said. Sydney felt small and breakable in my arms, slender and fragile. She was warm against me, alive. I closed my eyes and kissed her hair, her scent so familiar and comforting.

Mental stress brought fatigue. I fell asleep.

When I next opened my eyes it was pitch black in her room. We hadn't moved. Both fully dressed, I was still hugging Sydney. When I tightened the hug, Sydney responded, caressing my arm. She was awake, too.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered in the darkness.

"Shhh. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it," I reassured. I didn't want to lose this; hugging my little girl again, feeling the love and comfort she gave me, something I'd missed for so long. "Let me turn the light on."

"No! Please don't. Can't we just stay like this?" Sydney asked, gripping my arm tighter.

With a gentle kiss on her hair, I agreed.

Silence is never really silence. Noises of the night are all around us. From outside an occasional car passing filtered in to us. The house creaked and groaned as summer heat seeped away and wood in the walls, floors, and roof contracted.

My little girl's breath was almost silent but from the movement of her back I felt her breathing, alive. Somewhere in the neighborhood a dog barked twice and fell silent.

Working up my courage I finally asked quietly, "What's wrong, Honey?"

Her reply was so long in coming I thought she'd fallen asleep. "I am," she whispered eventually. "I'm a terrible person."

Sydney said it so quietly and with such conviction it scared me. I tightened my hug. "Never. You're not capable of being a terrible person."

"But I am," she whispered. "I can't help it."

"What can't you help?"

Sydney's hands gripped my arm. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, Honey. But what can't you help?"

"I just told you. I love you."

"But that doesn't make you a bad person," I rationalized, somewhat confused.

And, as I held my child, lying together on her bed with the security and anonymity of a pitch black night giving her emotional courage, Sydney finally talked. She finally let it all out.

My little girl talked about her feelings, how I had intruded into her fantasies, her private moments. She talked about the guilt she felt that first time; the first time she pleasured herself with thoughts of being with me, how wrong incest was but how exciting, too. In a quiet whisper she told me about how her feelings had evolved and grown stronger after her periods had arrived and how ashamed she'd get immediately after playing with herself.

My little girl talked about the agony she felt for being so bad and how she tried to ignore it, but every time it would come back at her, a sinful longing and desire, so wrong. And each time she gave into it she'd feel even worse. It was an endless cycle disintegrating deeper and deeper into self-loathing and shame.

It embarrassed her so much she could no longer look me in the eyes, afraid if I saw into them I'd know how bad a daughter she really was, how perverted she was, and what a disappointment she'd be to me. That scared her more and yet she couldn't stop her dreams and thoughts at night.

Sydney talked about me making it harder. She talked about how every time I tried to help, every time I asked what was wrong or tried to hug her, it made her feel worse, ashamed for her behavior. But she couldn't change her feelings no matter how hard she tried. She talked about how she thought about running away, leaving me, her shame so deep.

When Sydney whispered, "Please don't hate me, Dad," I hugged her tight, my heart hurting.

"Never. Don't worry, Honey. We'll figure something out," I reassured her.

"Kay," she whispered with such relief it brought dampness to my eyes.

The emotional release was too much for my little girl. Fully dressed, she fell asleep in my arms. I held her with uncommon gentleness, so fragile physically and emotionally. My mind was buzzing as I tried to figure out what to do. But overlaying it all was massive relief. The weight of a millstone had lifted from me. At least I knew what was wrong. My daughter was talking. Things would get better, no matter what.

Confession number seven - I was shocked by her confession, true. But inside me a little spark of pleasure came to life, a hint of fascination at her attraction to me that I couldn't dismiss.

Sydney's mental exhaustion showed when, with Saturday morning sun waking me, I left her still sound asleep on her bed and went to shower and change. My steps were light matching my spirits. Now I knew what her problem was we'd solve it, somehow. I was determined.

Pouring a mug of coffee, the rich aroma of Columbian dark roast filling my nose, out of the corner of my eye I spotted Sydney standing in the kitchen doorway. Her blue-grey eyes were studying me, her expression one of shy insecurity. She'd pulled her dark chestnut hair back in a high ponytail and changed into hip-hugging powder blue sweatpants with a blue and white striped cotton top. Placing the mug on the counter, I opened my arms in an invitation. "Morning, Sweetheart."

Sydney smiled suddenly with relief and raced over to me, pressing herself against me, her arms hugging me tightly, her cheek pressed hard to my chest. "Morning, Dad."

I kissed her crown and mentally sighed a huge sigh. A simple hug and my child was back. The world was a sweeter place.

Sydney busied herself making a bowl of granola and strawberry yoghurt accompanied by a glass of milk, telling me what she was having for breakfast as she made it, and why it was healthy, and why yoghurt with something called probiotics was good for you. She smiled at me, her eyes soft and shy but twinkling and I lost myself in the joy that permeated me. Nothing was said about last night's confession. When I suggested Sydney tidy up her room while I did laundry, it was brightly and enthusiastically accepted. Saturday morning chores were attended to.

But things were not back to the way they used to be. You can never go back. Perception is like those old stereograms, those drawings that, if you relaxed your eyes just enough, would suddenly show a three dimensional image not previously visible. It's the same drawing but seen slightly differently and that slight difference reveals everything in a new light; a completely new perspective.

Sydney's confession was like that; a stereogram. It changed my perspective completely. I noticed it first when sorting the dirty laundry. The chore used to be a mindless one, a rote process of separating whites, blacks, and colors before washing. But that Saturday it wasn't.

Sydney had opened my eyes to her emerging sexuality. The once blind eye of a father for his sweet innocent daughter was no longer blind. In my hands I held one pair of little panties after another, each small, very small. I noticed a whitish stain in the gusset of many that clearly wasn't pee. It made me wonder if perhaps it was her arousal.

I became aware of how surprisingly sexy Sydney's panties were. Skimpy white string bikini panties with little red hearts printed on them were a shock. When had I bought her those? And the satiny purple ones? At what point had I started buying my daughter sexy panties? While sorting, I actually fondled some briefly, and marveled at stretchy white sports panties. I sorted very small cotton bras, some with cups that were practically flat, some with cotton triangles, and one or two plain white sports bras, all suddenly very feminine to me, not simply clothes. They now reinforced my little girl's small breasts, adolescent breasts that I'd never really paid attention to before.

My daughter's panties and bras reminded me how long it had been since I'd been with a woman - a long time.

While cleaning the kitchen I watched Sydney vacuuming and, with a new awareness, actually studied her. In her hip-hugging sweatpants fashionably rolled down at the waist and striped cotton top, Sydney's body looked even more fragile, her rear narrow, her legs endlessly long. Yet there were unmistakable signs of a female, too. Beautiful buttocks draped in cotton sweats moved in a very, very feminine way. The blue and white cotton top clearly hinted at developing breasts.

I returned her smile when she glanced up and smiled at me brightly, her ear buds playing music to drown out the noise of the vacuum. Sydney's eyes sparkled making my heart flush with joy and no small measure of relief. The day became better, the sun stronger, our home cozier.

By noon we were done. Having dropped all her extracurricular activities, Sydney had nothing to do. The weather was warm and sunny, not too hot, not too humid, a perfect summer day. As I debated whether to mow the lawn or leave it for tomorrow I was overcome with an urge for a big steak grilled on a smoky barbecue accompanied by baked potatoes with all the trimmings and not one healthy vegetable in sight, and a bottle of Guinness Black Lager in hand.

My suggestion that Sydney have some friends over for the barbecue dinner, something she had not done in months, was greeted with enthusiasm, a big smile, and a tight hug which I returned just as fiercely. Sydney felt different to me, not like her old self but more; a girl of complexity and emotion and emerging maturity - no longer my little girl.

By three-thirty our small home was filled with noise. Girls laughed and yelled and chatted and giggled. The television was loud, blaring music from some channel out through open living room windows.

By four o'clock I judged the sun to be sufficiently in the western hemisphere and thus time for a beer. I puttered on the patio setting up a hickory wood barbecue and sipped beer. Like Antarctic penguins with their young, my ears picked out Sydney's laughter and voice from the din of all the other girls and I heard her happiness. It was obvious her simple confession had lifted a weight from her psyche. We still needed to talk about it but for now I was happy.

Just past ten o'clock Patty, the last of Sydney's friends, was waved goodbye to, her father reversing down the drive. I closed the front door and headed to the kitchen to grab the last beer for the night, my sixth of the evening, one over my limit. I was feeling a slight buzz.

Sydney was sprawled out on the couch in the living room flipping channels when I joined her. She moved her legs to give me room.

"There's only Along Came a Spider starting. Want to watch that?" she asked.

"Sure," I answered, settling down and kicking sneakers off.

"We've got fifteen minutes. I'm gonna shower before the movie," Sydney announced, leaping up, still full of energy and bounce.

True to her word she was back with two minutes to spare, hair damp and straggly, her mid-thigh lavender nightshirt showing a dark spot or two, damp from where she'd missed drying herself in her rush to get back. She had a half empty pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream in her hand - my cherished carton of Ben & Jerry's I'd tried to hide from her unsuccessfully.

We watched the movie in comfortable silence, the carton of ice cream set aside once empty, and Sydney cuddling against me with a shiver of coldness. She curled up and pulled a cushion over her legs. My arm draped over her in a gentle hug and I sipped beer. Eventually I spoke.

"We need to talk about last night, Sydney."

"Do we have to?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes, we do. I'm angry with you."

"I thought . . ."

Interrupting her, I said, "You've put me through Hell for the last seven months. Your grades have plummeted. You stopped all your activities and you scared the living daylights out of me . . ."

"But . . ."

Ignoring her I continued, ". . . and all because of guilt about a sexual fantasy. If you'd only talked to me I would have told you that fantasies are okay. It's perfectly all right to have them. Everyone does. If you'd just confided in me . . . Well, what's done is done. But next time you're afraid of something you're feeling, or ashamed, or confused, talk to me, Honey. I promise I'll never judge you."

"I thought it was a sin to dream about you like that," she said quietly.

"Dreams and fantasies are never a sin. They add excitement and make pleasure more intense."

A couple of minutes passed before Sydney spoke again. "Have you ever dreamed of me that way?"

"If I'd noticed how pretty you've become in the last year instead of worrying my ass off . . . You're not just my little girl anymore, Sydney, you're a beautiful young lady."

"Thanks."

"Promise you'll talk to me before you let things get to you that badly again."

"I promise."

When Sydney eventually stood to go to bed, she bent over and hugged me. "Thanks for the barbecue and everything, Dad." Her lips lingered on my cheek, her kiss soft, her scent filling my nose.

I might not have thought of my daughter in sexual terms before, but I did now.

I couldn't stop myself from admiring her slender youth as she walked out of the den, two small buttocks slightly outlined by a draping lavender nightshirt. She'd opened a door with her confession and I wondered for the first time what young sexuality in an adolescent girl was like. What did arousal feel like to Sydney? What did orgasms feel like? Were they the same as guys would feel? With a father's biased eye Sydney was pretty, but what would she look like in the full clutch of a climax, that most beautiful expression of joy?

The first stir of arousal, that slight spike in blood flow, hit me as I remembered holding my daughter's panties and I pictured her wearing them, her slender body, young and budding. Conceptually, in the abstract, I found my daughter's sexuality very exciting and absolutely fascinating.

In bed my mind strayed down the hall and into Sydney's bedroom and I wondered if she was touching herself. How did young girls masturbate? An erection formed as I tried to imagine the possible ways.

For the next three weeks life changed. We raced towards August eighth, Sydney's thirteenth birthday, and I planned it with joy. My preteen was going to become a teenager.

There were other reasons for my joy, too. Sydney announced she was re-joining a softball league and she expected me to attend every Saturday evening game. My daughter also became increasingly touchy-feely giving me frequent tight hugs and loving kisses on my cheek. Every night without fail she whispered, "Luv ya, Dad," after each kiss. It was obvious she was using the hugs to press her whole body against me and I suspected she was either testing to see if she was generating any physical reaction in me, or taking the sensations to bed at night. I didn't complain. Whatever her reasons, I was the recipient of more affection than I'd had in almost a year.

I would have been happy if our relationship settled on its current course. We were back to our easy comfort with each other, albeit with a slightly closer personal connection given her confession. But things took a turn into the intimate on the first Saturday softball game.

It was the end of a hot day, the air still slightly heavy. A weakening sun was slipping below a distant horizon and arc lights had come on to harshly light the diamond. The girls softball game passed with the familiar sounds of balls striking aluminum bats with sharp cracks, volunteer umpires shouting "Strike" or "Ball" or "Out," accompanied by cheers and jeers from parents. The occasional "Come on" was yelled followed by the girl's name and clapping in encouragement, and suddenly rising above all the hubbub was a roar of encouragement so loud everyone else fell silent.

I actually felt embarrassed when I sat down again and shut up. Other parents looked at me with astonishment or admiration for my vocal strength, or perhaps it was disapproval for breaking from the tradition by yelling "Show them how it's done, Sydney! Kill the effing ball!"

Sydney turned and grinned at me from the home plate. The fact that it was the bottom of the ninth inning and my daughter's team was too far behind to win made no difference to me. A swing and a sharp crack and Sydney did exactly that, the ball launching into the left field over the heads of the astonished opposition. Her team still lost, but by one less run.

However it was pure joy and excitement - it was by far her best hit - that made Sydney jump and holler and when she eventually raced over to me, leaping at me, my arms welcomed her in a hug. The quick celebratory kiss accidentally landed on her mouth. No one else saw, thank goodness. It was very fast.

It was a deceptive kiss. Its brevity belied its impact. An invisible line had been crossed and if I thought it was only me that noticed I was proven wrong that night. Sydney, when finally standing up from the couch to head to bed, whispered a goodnight to me in a softer, more loving voice, gave me a tight hug, and her kiss lightly touched my lips. The very faint blush and sparkle in her eyes made her appear very, very pretty and revealed the deliberateness of her act.

She left the living room physically but her presence lingered; a slight scent of her hovering in the air, the silky touch of her lips, her beautiful shy, excited expression imprinted on my retinas.

Confession number eight - When it came to Sydney I accepted that I was selfish and a coward.

I should have stopped things there. I could have corrected Sydney's behavior. I could have reset the boundaries that had shifted into the intimate - entirely my fault - and moved them back into father-daughter territory. The simple fact was, as I sat contemplating that light kiss, I accepted that I was a wimp.

I was scared of Sydney falling back into her incommunicative shell which could easily happen if I rejected her. I was afraid of the impact on me as much as her; I wasn't sure I had the stamina to go through everything again.

There was a large measure of selfishness in my perspective, too. My youth had not been sweet and innocent. It had been rough and raw and, in many ways, ugly. I'd never been exposed to a sweet little blush on a pretty girl that accompanied a forward, risqué act. It didn't matter that it was my daughter. It was intensely cute and attractive, and powerful, too.

Honesty is a harsh trait. It's something we all ignore with convenience when the truth might hurt or reveal something about us we don't want to acknowledge. It takes strength to admit to a truth, to be honest, and to accept it. I had discovered an uncomfortable truth about myself. I admitted it. Despite knowing deep inside how wrong it was, my daughter's sexual forwardness excited me emotionally.

That night in bed, when I relived Sydney's light, chaste kiss, I experienced arousal and shame at my reaction. Arousal won out.

Over the next week Sydney was her old self just brighter, happier. She became busy with her friends during the day while I was at work and greeted me when I'd get home with a tight hug and a light kiss. The goodnight kiss lingered slightly longer each night and was always accompanied by a bright smile and slight blush.

Friday night arrived. For the first time in a long time Sydney went out to see a movie with her friends. I was left to my own devices. My own devices turned out to be Chinese food ordered in and several Guinness Black Lagers - I was developing quite the appreciation for them. I ate while watching a rerun marathon of Numb3rs and sipped beer. By the time my daughter came home I was pleasantly buzzed.

Sydney was bright and bubbly and full of energy. She announced, "I'm taking a shower, Dad. Find a good movie for us to watch," as she breezed through the living room.

I found Signs with Mel Gibson, brought a new bottle of beer in from the kitchen, and settled down. Twenty minutes later Sydney breezed in with a bowl of Ben & Jerry's Hazed & Confused, a concoction of chocolate and hazelnut ice creams with fudge chips and a hazelnut fudge core; completely decadent. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt, an old one of mine with holes in spots and a frayed neck, a T-shirt I thought I'd thrown away. Dark, damp chestnut hair fell in attractive straggly strands to below her shoulders.

"What did you find?" she asked.

"Signs."

"Who's in Signs?" she asked, reaching for the remote. "We saw Need for Speed with Tobey Marshall at the movies. He's cute. It was a fun movie. You'd like it. It was all about street racing," she informed me, pausing to take a spoonful of ice cream. Her other hand turned the television to the TV Guide and flicked through the listings. Finding The Wedding Planner she selected it and tossed the remote onto the couch, settling back and snuggling into my side. "That's better," she announced.

Life was pretty good I decided. So were Sydney's bare legs. She curled them to the side and, with a mild buzz influencing me, I admired the shape of her slender thighs, the beautiful lines of her calves, and the shape of her feet, even if they were still a bit big for her body. I noticed with fascination how adolescence had darkened the hair on her legs, still very fine, though. My hand found her damp hair and I caressed lightly. It felt good to touch my daughter, comforting. It brought on a flush of love. She really was my favorite person in the world.

At some point Sydney finished her ice cream, put the bowl aside and shivered. "I'm cold, Dad. Hug me," she ordered, drawing my arm over her slender shoulder. Chill bumps formed on her legs and she grabbed a cushion to cover herself. Dissatisfied with the coverage, she grabbed two more. "Pass me another cushion," she asked, reaching across my lap. I did.

Finally, her curled legs covered with four cushions, Sydney sighed with relief and her hand settled onto my thigh. With new awareness of my daughter I became very conscious of her hand. It rested mid-thigh, relaxed, her short fingernails painted pearlescent white. I liked her easy familiarity with me. I liked her cuddled to my side. On television Matthew McConaughey took Jenifer Lopez's pulse in the children's hospital. Sydney's hand caressed my thigh lovingly.

I didn't understand it. Alcohol must have been the trigger. Somehow the sweet joy of having my soon-to-be teenage daughter cuddled to my side began to feel intimate to me. Her little caress of my thigh continued and I responded by caressing her shoulder gently, just my thumb moving at first. When my thumb softly caressed the side of her neck Sydney reacted by tipping her head towards my touch, her hand moving slightly higher on my thigh, her fingertips slipping to the inside in an almost possessive move. It wasn't much, but intimacy had emerged.

Alcohol played an even stronger part. I slowly became aroused. It wasn't a raging arousal but a soft, comfortable arousal, blood flowing south, a semi-erection forming. Alcohol played a major part when the movie ended. It was just past midnight. I was ready for bed. We both stood, the television turned off, the end table lamps dark, and a hall light providing shadowed illumination.

Sydney moved into me, hugging me. "Night, Dad," she said, her face turning up for a kiss.

I bent my head and kissed her lips softly. But this time, without deliberation and in an undeniably un-fatherly way, one hand rested on my daughter's lower back drawing her against me and the other held the back of her neck gently. Sydney's head tilted to the side. Her hug tightened. She pressed her delicate body against me and, with her silken warm lips pressed to mine, the kiss lingered longer, much, much longer than before.

"Goodnight, Sweetheart," I said softly when the kiss ended, smiling at her slightly. My daughter's eyes sparkled, her shy smile beautiful.

Sydney seemed to have springs in her feet as she headed to her room. I took a partial erection to bed and wrestled with my demons. With each intimate gesture it felt like I was a sentient moth irresistibly attracted to the bright light that was Sydney. There was a reason to worry, too. The taboo nature of our evolving relationship, instead of providing a deterrent, was bringing an unexpected thrill of excitement and that scared me. I was acutely aware that this burgeoning relationship with Sydney could actually hurt her in the long run.

My sleep was restless.

Saturday morning brought a big surprise. The bed dipped and a hand jostled my bare shoulder.

"Wake up, Dad," my daughter urged.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," I said, studying her deliciously messy chestnut hair. Her soft, intelligent, blue-grey eyes smiled at me framed by darker eyebrows and long eyelashes. Those five freckles on the bridge of her nose added a playfulness, a brightness, a promise of laughter. Sydney's sensual mouth widened into a smile, her lips parting to reveal white teeth. Life suddenly felt more intense and valuable.

"I've made us breakfast," she said.

"What have you made?" I asked, my eyes drifting down to study the frayed army green T-shirt. It draped on her, soft, well-worn cotton, teasingly hinting at her still small breasts. I noticed the slight bump of her nipples revealing that she wore no bra underneath and appreciated it.

"I made bacon," she advised.

"With what?"

"Anything you want. Bacon goes with everything!" Sydney said with a light laugh.

"Let's have it with oatmeal," I suggested as a joke, reaching out to caress her bare arm. My hand felt soft hair that had changed from body-blonde to chestnut, another sign of adolescence.

"Oatmeal? Really?" Letting out a delighted laugh, Sydney stood, bent and kissed me lightly, just a peck on my lips. "Get up. You need to shave," she pointed out. In a possessive move her hand rubbed my rough cheek affectionately.

"So do you," I said jokingly as she left.

"I what?" she asked, pausing in the doorway, her eyes wide.

"You need to shave." When she looked confused, I grinned and added, "Your arms and legs."

Sydney blushed slightly, her hand rubbing one arm. She turned and left.

I showered and shaved and entered the kitchen to discover a small cereal bowl and a package of Quaker instant oatmeal inside it at my place at the table. It made me smile. The bacon aroma was strong and mouthwatering as it competed against the smell of freshly brewed coffee. There was no sign of Sydney.

A quarter of an hour later and into my second mug of coffee Sydney entered, still in the T-shirt. She looked the same except for damp hair from a shower and three little pieces of toilet paper spotting her legs where she'd cut herself shaving.

I grinned at her and, reaching for her hand, drew her onto my lap. She snuggled against me smelling of shampoo and soap. I made no comment about the bits of toilet paper but they reminded me of the powerful influence I held over my daughter and the extent she'd go to please me. It gave me pause.

Pushing the bowl of Quaker oatmeal with a fingertip, I said, "Very funny."

Sydney laughed silently, shaking in my lap.

"Where's the bacon?"

"In the oven to keep warm," she answered.

I rubbed a freshly shaved forearm, her skin silky smooth. "I'll make eggs. How do you want them?"

"No. I'll make the eggs. I'm making breakfast today," she replied, slipping from my lap and standing.

I grabbed her wrist and tugged. She bent towards me. With a smile, I kissed my daughter lightly on her lips, a soft brush of intimacy. Her eyes twinkled with pleasure. "You make me very happy," I said when the kiss ended, adding, "And I want eggs Benedict."

Sydney laughed brightly. We did not have eggs Benedict.

Something else distracted us - it was me. It wasn't intentional. As Sydney busied herself making toast and heating a frying pan for eggs, I rose to refresh my coffee. My daughter looked so lovely in the large T-shirt, a little lost girl, so damned cute, her legs long and so very bare. A wave of affection washed over me. She was such a wonderful daughter. It was a joy to have her back and I couldn't appreciate her enough.

Placing the mug on the counter, I moved up behind Sydney and wrapped my arms around her, hugging her slender body. Her head didn't quite reach my neck. She was small and fragile in my arms, so young. I kissed her crown.

"I love you, Honey," I told her softly.

"Love you, too, Dad," she answered just as softly, leaning back against me.

My arms slipped up her body and suddenly I felt her. All of a sudden, pressed against my forearm were two small, unfettered little breasts. In an instant, with no control whatsoever, Sydney went from loving daughter to sexy girl. In that explosive moment of revelation I reacted, an erection forming and, when Sydney pressed back against me, her buttocks pressing deliciously into my groin, I shuddered. I had to fight the almost overwhelming desire to cup those sensual young breasts.

With a monumental effort I kissed my not-so-little girl on her crown again and let her go.

While Sydney brightly told me how she was making scrambled eggs and how brown she was toasting the bread and what temperature she was keeping the bacon warm at and why two hundred and twenty was a better temperature than two-fifty for the oven, I distractedly sipped coffee.

My distraction was two-fold. First, and most important, was the massive desire I still had to touch my daughter's breasts. That I could find such small breasts sexy and arousing was a shock, my tastes running more towards the full-sized versions. I could still feel those two distinct mounds pressed to my forearm, so surprisingly firm to the touch. It was a haunting sensation. And second was the suddenness of the change inside me. I could feel it, too. It was the excited weight of attraction that had gone from the abstract into reality, that physical response to a desirable female, the selfish need mixed with arousal and want - and boy did I want!

I wanted to feel, touch, and caress my daughter's newly formed breasts. My mind took flight trying to picture them. What would her areolae be like? Were they small or large? We're they dimpled? What color were they? Dark pink or light skin color? Did they change when aroused, when stimulated, when sucked gently?

"Dad?"

"Hmm?" I answered.

"Where did you go?"

Heat dusted my face. "Somewhere I shouldn't have," I answered. "How soon will breakfast be ready?" I asked to change the subject.

"Two minutes. Set the table, please."

I behaved through breakfast and through the rest of the day, but boy it was hard. I found myself needing to touch Sydney, just a light touch of her shoulder or arm, or my palm resting on her back when shopping. I noticed her absence when she'd go to the bathroom and eagerly anticipate her return.

At six-thirty, with Sydney dressed for her softball game in the team's fire engine red uniform top with white piping, tight white knee-length pants and white knee-high socks, we arrived at the local baseball field. She looked great with her chestnut hair up in a ponytail threaded through the back opening of her baseball cap. Parents and kids milled about in confused excitement while coaches desperately tried to corral and organize their players.

I gave Sydney a tight hug wishing her luck. She smiled broadly, kissed my cheek, and danced off. I could still feel her pressed against me.

Her team, the Tiger Cats, lost again yet seemed in high spirits, a tribute to the coach's attitude. Sydney missed every pitch, her eyes constantly finding mine. I hooted and hollered embarrassing the other parents but not me or my daughter, Sydney grinning broadly at my antics. By ten o'clock we were back home.

Following my daughter's strict instructions I grabbed a beer and searched for a movie while she showered. I didn't try very hard. No matter what I chose Sydney would change it to another movie. She always did. I found Miss Congeniality and settled back, bare feet up on the coffee table. That first sip of beer was wonderful, the Guinness Black Lager full of hops and rich-bodied and cold.

She strolled into the living room in a junior camisole and pajama shorts set. It was soft pale pink cotton and draped on her. I'd seen it before but now it was mesmerizing. In its simplicity it was sensual. In its design it emphasized her slender youth. It made my daughter look sweet and sexy at the same time, the top doing an outstanding job of hinting at the petiteness of her breasts.

"What did you pick?" she asked, flopping to my side. "Oops. Forgot. Wait a sec," she added, jumping up.

"Miss Congeniality," I yelled at her back, my eyes studying the movement of loose pink cotton pajama shorts over small buttocks. Was she wearing panties?

Sydney returned with the half-empty pint of Ben & Jerry's Hazed & Confused and a spoon digging in, her blue-grey eyes twinkling with pleasure. She flopped down next to me. "We need more ice cream," she informed me. "We're all out."

Much to my surprise she didn't change the movie. We sat comfortably while Sydney finished the pint off, sighed, shivered, put the empty pint on the side table, curled up, and cuddled tight.

"Brrr. Cold, Dad," she informed me, grabbing cushions to cover her legs. She hugged my arm.

My hand caressed her bare thigh under the cushions. One small breast pressed to my arm. I lost track of the movie. Sydney's leg was silken and warm, the inside of her thigh very smooth. I appreciated the shapeliness of her thigh, too. And, when my fingers lightly brushed against the cotton of her shorts, I realized my fingertips were almost at her crotch.

The charge of erotic excitement it caused scared the Hell out of me. It was far too easy to appreciate her. It was far too easy to imagine my fingertips slipping higher to gently explore the shape of my daughter's pussy. With fear for my lack of restraint and overactive imagination, I eased my hand away from her thigh. As calm as you please Sydney grabbed my hand and returned it to where it had been.

I glanced down at her. Chilly Ben & Jerry had made her nipples perk up and poke rather delightfully against her cotton top.

Blue-more-than-grey eyes were looking up at me, big, wide open, full of hope, and a hint of desire. Bending my head, as Sydney smiled, I kissed her gently. Her cold hand rose to cup my cheek. Her lips were soft and warm and welcoming. And then Sydney murmured, her lips moving. Desire washed over me, a hot flush of need mixed with arousal and want. The tip of my tongue lightly touched my little girl's lips. I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop it. It happened without thinking.

Sydney must have been shocked. Our kiss broke suddenly when she pulled back. Her eyes studied me, her expression serious. "Kiss me again, Dad," she whispered.

I did.

A small, warm, moist tongue greeted mine. An erection sprang into existence. My hand stroked a bare twelve-year-old's thigh.

Confession number nine - That kiss was the exact moment I entertained the possibility of making love to my daughter.

Despite an unbidden desire to explore the intimacy further, I didn't.

I settled for that kiss, followed by another some ten minutes later and another when my beer was finished. Sydney stopped shivering with cold and her nipples softened, no longer poking. But she hugged my arm tightly and pressed herself against my side. Every so often she'd sigh deeply, an audible sigh of happiness. I loved it.

Feeling quite happy and loving a memory came back to me; Sydney at six years old.

As happens with parents, something had woken me from my sleep. Streetlights cast weak illumination in the bedroom. Standing at the side of my bed was my little girl, her shoulder-length hair messy, her big, big eyes glistening with moisture, fright showing. One arm hugged her stuffed polar bear, Mr. Snuggles.

"What's wrong, Sweetheart?" I'd asked, a flit of worry hitting me.

"The monsters are back under my bed, Daddy," she claimed.

"Then I better come chase them away."

Sydney shook her head. "You can't. They hide when you're in my bedroom and come out when you leave."

Looking at the glistening tears in her pretty eyes, I decided not to argue. "Then you'd better sleep here," I said, lifting the covers.

Sydney, in her red pajamas with white bunnies hopping all over them, crawled up onto the bed and scooted to my side. She was actually shaking when I wrapped her in my arms.

I discovered my little girl emitted a scent when she slept. She smelled like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer with a hint of clean soap and sweetness. It was a heady aroma.

Sydney slept in my bed for the next four nights. It turned out the monsters in her room were mice that she'd hear scrabbling under the floorboards when the room was quiet.

I smiled at the memory and hugged Sydney harder as we watched the movie. She turned her face to look up at me.

"What was that for?"

"I just remembered the mice in the basement. Remember? You had to sleep in my bed for five days until you were convinced the monsters were gone."

Sydney laughed softly and turned back to the movie.

Eventually the movie ended. Again we'd lasted to just after midnight. Sydney stood and waited for me to rise. With the TV turned off she pressed the full length of her body against me, her face upturned, blue-grey eyes bright with excitement. The kiss was so easy, so perfect, so guiltless. My lips touched hers, soft and warm. She hugged my waist, her hands slowly rising up my back. Her eyes closed. Tongue tips touched hesitantly. Vertigo set in.

"Goodnight, Sweetheart," I said softly when it ended, my knees slightly weak.

"Night, Dad. Luv ya," she whispered, giving me a quick hug.

Arousal and desire are strange masters. As Sydney left and I started turning out the lights, I felt the erection heavy in my groin. It wasn't a full on erection, but a soft, exciting one. It influenced my thinking, slanting my perspective. Once again I found myself drifting into erotic thoughts of my almost thirteen-year-old daughter. I found myself wishing, too; wishing some very, very sexy things.

By the time I climbed into bed, and with distance from her, my partial erection had faded and sanity had been restored. It didn't last.

Fifteen minutes after turning the bedside light out Sydney appeared in the doorway still in her pale pink cotton camisole and loose pajama shorts. She looked at me with a sweet, shy smile. Trying to be serious, she said, "Daddy? There are monsters under my bed."

A rush of love and lust hit me together, a powerful, irresistible combination. I didn't even think. Lifting the covers, I said, "Then you'd better sleep here, Sweetheart. We'll deal with the monsters tomorrow."

Sydney had either put on deodorant or a dab of perfume. It wafted at me, floral and lemony with a hint of lavender. The mattress dipped. A beautiful daughter slipped across and into welcoming arms. I hugged my child, buried my nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. So lost in the beauty of her in my arms, her fragile body so sensual to me, I didn't register the partial erection that formed and pressed against her.

Sydney gasped quietly. She froze for the briefest moment, her face buried against my neck, then pressed her body to my erection. The wave of desire that hit me was awe-inspiring in its intensity. It was almost strong enough to swamp common sense. It took a massive effort to tamp it down.

We cuddled instead. I didn't even try to kiss her. I knew if I did I'd slip over the edge into uncontrollable actions.

The night passed with great discomfort. I was acutely conscious of my daughter in bed with me. Every time Sydney moved I woke up, and she moved a lot, a constant turning and shifting movement as if driven by dreams. At one point she turned suddenly, her arm outstretched and smacking down across my chest. That rudely woke me up. She was malleable, too. A gentle tug on her shoulder would get her to roll over towards me. A small pull on a narrow little hip and she'd scoot back against me and we'd spoon. When she rolled onto her front at some point in the middle of the night I rolled, too, and my leg settled across the back of her legs, hooking her to keep her close to me, a partial erection pressed into her thigh.

Sydney talked in her sleep, indecipherable, murmurs and odd words, waking me up every time. Topping it off was that utterly addictive scent of a sleeping young girl. It was the same as when she was six years old; the aroma of a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer with a hint of clean soap and sweetness, but now overlaid with her light perfume.

I was exhausted when Sunday morning finally arrived. Did I regret having my daughter sleep in my bed? Not for one single minute. But, when I cracked my eyes open and groaned with an aching body, I was alone. The clank of a pot or pan reached me. Sydney was up and in the kitchen.

Groaning with aches and pains from a bad sleep, I rolled out of bed.

"Morning, Dad," Sydney greeted me smiling brightly when I emerged showered and shaved. "I made coffee."

My pretty daughter melted against me when I drew her into a hug. Her sweet face was full of brightness and happiness, her eyes twinkling. I kissed her gently, a light brush of lips, and the intimacy thrilled me no end. "Morning, Sweetheart."

The slide into the erotic was far too easy. It started with a light caress of her rather lovely, compact jean-clad rear, a beautifully shaped bum. I released her and poured myself a mug of coffee. Sydney seemed to vibrate with energy as she brought out cereal bowls and milk and OJ. She accompanied her actions with a running commentary on what we were having for breakfast and did I want bananas with my cereal and how did I feel about going shopping today? I just smiled.

With the easy intimacy between us, so new and fresh, I couldn't stop admiring her. Jeans hugged narrow hips, outlined small, sexy buttocks, and covered endlessly long legs. Her simple rose red cotton top with deeper red piping around the neck and short sleeves draped sensually, moving as she did, alternately hiding then outlining small, perky breasts. A memory of those amazingly pert breasts pressed against my forearm as I hugged her brought on a physical response.

While sipping coffee I grunted replies to her bright chatting and admired her lovely eyes, the morning light making them reflect that unique blue-grey color that could alternate between icy disapproval and warm love. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. Her eyebrows were a much darker brown, almost black, which drew attention to her sparkling eyes; a very pretty effect. With those five freckles on the bridge of her nose, she was a vision of sweet loveliness that made my lazy heart wake up.

I lost myself in her one-sided conversation and admired her animated mouth and how her lips seemed fuller, more lush, the upper a perfect bow shape, the lower plump and sensual, her teeth flashing bright white with each smile.

Unable to resist, as Sydney passed after placing strawberry yoghurt on the table, I grabbed her arm and drew her to me. Beautiful eyes twinkled. She slowly stopped talking, her sentence trailing off unfinished. She knew. It was in her eyes.

Guiding her between my knees, she bent to me. Our lips touched, a warm silky caress. Her eyes closed as she opened her mouth slightly. Our tongues touched, a moist welcoming touch, hesitant, still fresh and new and exciting. A welcome erection formed, tight in my jeans.

I kissed my little girl. There was no disguising my message; intimacy and desire. As the tips of our tongues played, my hand held her bony hip. I moved it up her body. When it reached the side of her chest my thumb caressed the side swell of her petite breast. She was bra-less. The side of her little boob was firm and distinct, perky, and intensely, powerfully erotic.

With a gasp, Sydney broke the kiss, her eyes opening wide. They were full of surprise and longing and excitement. She studied my eyes, looking into one then the other. Her expression was serious, contemplative. A decision was made. She bent and kissed me again, this time her hand holding my shoulder, her lips pressing hard against my mouth. Tongues toyed and played. The pad of my thumb caressed the tip of her perfect little breast and felt her nipple.

Breaking the kiss suddenly, I smiled. "Wow, Sydney," I exclaimed softly, my hand moving back down to her hip. "Get breakfast, sit down and kindly explain to your father where you learned to kiss so well."

Sydney laughed brightly, pleased. Her eyes sparkled. She laughed again when, as she moved away towards the cupboard for cereal, I groped her ass - firm and sexy.

Sexual attraction is electric. It crackles between two people like static electricity and powers a magnetic reaction. It did with Sydney and me. We did eventually go shopping at a large mall twenty-seven miles away from town. Somehow we brushed against each other frequently. Smiles were soft and knowing at times and broad and bright at other times.

Touches were subtle, too. My hand on her shoulder hid the way my thumb caressed the soft hair at the nape of her slender neck. Sydney would hold my hand occasionally, her other hand subtly caressing my forearm. I touched her back lightly to guide her or steer her. Her hand touched mine when handing me something to look at; a sweater, a blouse, a book.

The electricity of our secret attraction sparked and crackled. It was intense. Sweet seduction like this was something I'd never experienced in my misspent youth and I was beginning to appreciate what I'd missed. We took in an early afternoon movie and shared a bucket of popcorn. But what had me hard, what brought on a powerful erection, was a small touch.

In the darkness of the cinema I reached across for some popcorn and my hand landed on my daughter's thigh. I left it there, my fingers on the inside of her leg. Sydney eventually rested her hand on the back of mine. She caressed my hand lovingly. As the movie raged loudly, full of action and violence, I caressed her thigh lightly. Suddenly I became aware of how close to my daughter's crotch I was, how intimate the touch was, and, with a surge of arousal, a heart suddenly beating harder, and excitement mounting, I caressed her jean-clad thigh higher. In tiny increments my hand edged up her leg, Sydney's hand resting on top of mine, her other hand eating popcorn.

My erection was complete, held tightly in jeans, pulsing with arousal when Sydney pulled my hand even higher, my pinkie nestled into my little girl's crotch. She placed the tub of popcorn over her lap to hide us. It might have been my imagination but Sydney's crotch felt warm. When I pressed against her pussy Sydney squeezed my hand, a sign of encouragement.

Nothing had felt so sexy or as exciting to me. Nothing I'd experienced came close to the thrill of touching my daughter in the middle of a movie. My erection throbbed hard when Sydney closed her legs trapping my hand then parted them again, her hand pressing mine in encouragement. I couldn't resist, turning my hand, I actually palmed her pussy and squeezed. We were now firmly into the sexual arena. There was no doubt and, for me, no turning back. As precum dampened my boxers I wondered if my little girl's pussy was moist, her panties damp? What panties was she wearing? What did it feel like to be fondled in the cinema? Did her areolae and nipples respond? What were the signs of arousal in a girl so young?

My mind took flight, a wonderful flight of dreams and imagination and excitement, bringing a heady arousal with it, the thrill of illicit attraction, of touching my daughter, of arousing her, exciting her.

The movie ended. I had some rearranging to do before the lights came up, my arousal now into the damp stage. Sydney's eyes were bright and intense, yet she smiled shyly when I reached for her hand and led her out.

"I need a bathroom," she said as we left the auditorium, removing her hand from mine and moving off.

Waiting for her, pondering why she needed the bathroom only made my agony greater; to pee or dry?

The drive home was quieter than usual. Sydney wasn't full of conversation. She seemed happy just to respond to my questions: did she like the movie? Was it interesting? And she laughed brightly when I asked, "What was it about?"

Twenty-odd minutes later we hit the outskirts of our hometown. It was four-forty in the afternoon.

"Dad, pull over," Sydney said out of the blue as we turned down Clover Street. "There," she said pointing to the Protestant Church of Our Lady Grace.

I pulled over, opening my mouth to ask what was going on.

Sydney opened the car door before I spoke. "I'll only be a minute," she informed me, hopping out.

This was very strange. I watched her open the church door and slip inside. We'd never been religious. As far as I knew my daughter had never even attended a church service. True to her word - in a female way - Sydney appeared ten minutes later, not one minute later. She danced to the car with a big smile on her face.

"Thanks," she exclaimed, shutting the door.

"Care to tell me what that was about?" I asked.

"Later. Let's go home."

There was excitement in her voice.

When we arrived I announced I was going to take a shower. Even though I'd showered this morning I was suffering from damp boxers and a raging arousal that needed attention rather badly. Sydney announced, "Me, too!"

In the shower I let my imagination run wild. With a thick erection, with steamy water pounding my shoulders, with my eyes closed, and my head bent, I stroked myself and relived touching and fondling my daughter's crotch. I stroked myself as I relived squeezing her pussy, caressing her, and her hand encouraging me with small presses. As I tried to imagine what a twelve-year-old would feel when her panties became moist, what she'd feel as I fondled her, would her pussy throb like my cock, would she ache with desire or feel the pressure of horniness, my cock strained. Stroking myself, my climax arrived, intense and welcome. Pressure released, my shaft swelling, semen erupting in an explosion of bliss. I grunted and stroked, semen spurting, pleasure thundering in. I inadvertently imagined slipping my hands inside her panties to touch her and I heaved again, a hard, aching explosion of cum. Stroking hard I climaxed, spurting cum, aching with each pulse of pleasure, cumming, cumming, bliss, sweet release.

My heart was thumping when the orgasm passed. It had brought release but no relief; a conflicting sensation. Sexual relief was achieved but my desire for Sydney was now stronger than ever; the concept of a twelve-year-old lover suddenly intoxicating.

That excursion into intimate touching changed our relationship. It was immediately obvious over dinner. Sydney was unusually quiet, her eyes watchful, soft and full of sweet adoration. She smiled shyly at my comments but wasn't the same girl I was used to. It confused me until it registered. My little girl didn't know how to act around me now we'd crossed a line. I needed to re-establish the easy comfort we'd had. I couldn't let Sydney feel stressed or insecure or hesitant. Those were feelings that only brought nervousness.

Sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner, I opened the discussion. "Sweetheart, did it bother you what we did at the movies?"

"No," she answered quickly.

"Did you like it?"

She nodded, smiled shyly and just a tinge of rosy red touched her cheekbones. "Did you?" she asked.

"Yes. Very much." Taking a steadying breath, I continued, "You dreamed of being with me. Do you still feel that way?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, the tinge of red strengthening.

Watching her eyes closely I took the plunge. It was exciting and nerve-wracking. "I've given this some thought and, if you want, I'd like it if we . . . Well . . . Sweetheart, I'd like it if you and me . . . if we did what you dreamed about. We both know it's wrong but I can't help how I feel about you. You're a gorgeous girl."

A slow smile blossomed on Sydney's pretty face, growing into dazzling magnificence. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "It's not wrong, Dad," she assured me.

"It is, but I don't care, Honey."

"It isn't. That's what I asked Reverend Maynard. He's Sarah's dad. You know Sarah, don't you?"

I didn't, but I remembered her visit to the church. "Asked him what?"

"I asked him if, in God's eyes, loving someone was a sin."

"And what did the Reverend say?"

"He said loving someone was never a sin."

Pondering it I thought Sydney might have asked the wrong question, or had she deliberately asked the question that way? I said nothing. Her peace of mind was too important to me, the implications too exciting.

"Okay, then. But you know we still need to be very, very careful."

"Daaaad, I know that!"

"Good." With a smile I continued, "We'll take things slowly, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because the journey is as much fun as the destination, sometimes even better."

"What does that mean?" Sydney asked.

"It means we're not going to have sex right away."

"Why not?"

"Because the experiences leading up to sex are ones you'll remember forever. They'll make intimacy more intense, more pleasurable, and it'll be much, much better when we finally make love."

In a sign of a return to easy familiarity, Sydney's cheeks faded back to their usual color. She asked, "How long before we . . .?"

"Make love?"

"Uh-huh."

"Let's agree to wait until you become a teenager. Then, if you still want to, we will."

"But that's three whole weeks away," she exclaimed.

Reaching across the table, I took Sydney's hand. "Trust me, Honey. You won't be disappointed. There are so many things to experience before intercourse. Besides, we should get you on the pill first."

"Kay," she responded brightly. "Let's do that tomorrow."

Confession number ten - The prospect of introducing my daughter to sex aroused me like nothing before; not the first girl I ever had sex with, not my ex-wife. Nothing. The combination of young sex and incest was a dark and powerful master that found a receptive acolyte in me.

"There are rules we have to heed," I said to her excited face.

"Like what?"

"First, what we do stays between us. Second, if anything we do makes you uncomfortable you have to tell me or everything stops."

"Kay."

"I'm not finished. Third, you have to talk to me, Honey, not that that will be hard for you . . ."

Sydney laughed brightly.

"You have to tell me what you're feeling, what you like or dislike. Despite appearing it at times, I'm not a mind reader and communication is the single most important part of an intimate relationship. You cannot be shy or embarrassed at everything. I'll try not to be embarrassed, too. Do you promise to follow the rules?"

Sydney paused before answering. "What if I want do try something and you don't want to, or visa-versa?"

"You tell me. 'No' is an answer, too."

"What if I want to make you feel good even if it doesn't do the same for me?"

"Giving pleasure is part of an intimate relationship. As long as it doesn't hurt you or scare you, then it's okay."

"How about words? What's rude? What's sexy? Like . . . well, you know."

I smiled. "Anything goes when we're on our own. But if you don't mind, I'd be happier if you're not crude."

"How will I know?" Sydney asked.

"You'll know. Trust me, you'll know."

"Kay." Sydney put her fork down and, with a slight smile, asked, "When do we start?" She immediately blushed.

"We already have," I assured her. "Just relax and let things happen. You'll have more fun that way."

"Okay. Will you have more fun?"

My daughter's question was a sharp reminder that she was trying to please me, not just enjoy herself. I would have to be very careful. "We'll both have more fun," I assured her.

We did.

My daughter had two distinct sides to her sensuality. One side was sweetly soft and kittenish, a cute almost shy response to my sexual advances. It was very, very attractive. The other side to her sensuality was silliness. She was funny in her spontaneous fun, her bright giggles, her shy forwardness. That side made me laugh and my heart almost burst with love.

I'd never been given the gift of flirting with a young girl. It was intensely sweet. Sydney had an internal monitor that judged my actions, rejecting them cutely until I'd demonstrated enough desire and suddenly capitulating. She adored being chased, being desired. It showed in the sparkle of joy in her pretty eyes.

After our dinner we watched TV in the living room and Sydney rebuffed my not too casual advances. I tried for subtlety in my gropes and failed, my hand deftly deflected. I tried to distract and grope and failed, Sydney giggling and squirming, her hand pushing mine away from the side of her chest. It didn't matter to me. It was all perfect. The joy of hearing her giggle was enough. When I kissed her, her eyes twinkling with amusement, she shook with silent laughter and kept her lips firmly shut despite my tongue trying to gain entry. In her eyes it was clear she loved being desired. The evening passed in perfect bliss.

But Sydney's personality changed later. She arrived at my bedroom door wearing an outrageously ugly lavender and pink mid-thigh nightshirt, her eyes questioning. Her expression seemed to be asking for permission to come to bed with me. My smile was the answer she hoped for. With lightness in her step Sydney came to the bed and slipped under the covers, scooting across to me.

Our kiss was slow and sensual. Her tongue was warm and moist and active. She pressed herself against the erection she'd caused. I hugged her body, so petite, almost fragile in my arms. I kissed my daughter and caressed her back, my hand slowly moving down to discover the remarkable rise of her bum, the incredible rounded beauty of two small, sexy buttocks and below, the soft smoothness of bare thighs.

I moved my hand back up and brought the edge of her nightshirt with it and ended up caressed my little girl's soft cotton panties. It was very exciting to touch them. Sydney pressed herself against my erection, her body trembling slightly. When the kiss ended I left my hand where it was, cupping a sexy ass. Hugging her we relaxed in easy comfort. She fell asleep in my arms, a truly wonderful experience.

That night was a restless sleep for me. Every time Sydney moved I woke up. She mumbled and talked and at one point in the night her arm flopped across me banging me in the chest. She moved, pulling the covers with her and forcing me to drag her back towards me to get the covers again. She exhausted me. The Monday morning alarm went off dragging me from exhaustion into daylight. I groaned. Sydney was splayed out on her front next to me with her head buried underneath a pillow, one bare leg uncovered on top of the blankets, her arm hanging off the edge of the bed.

With a complaining body I rolled out of bed and hit the shower. I felt like I used to in the army when suffering from punishing physical activity. But would I give up one minute of having Sydney in bed with me? Nope.

She was still asleep when I left for work at six-fifteen in the morning. I was a dead man walking when I returned at six-forty that night.

Sydney greeted me with tight hug, a smile a mile wide and the sexiest smooch I'd ever had. She pressed herself against me, her pretty face upturned, eyes sparkling with joy. Our lips touched and a moist, active little tongue emerged. Holding her tight, kissing her, I just about drowned when she murmured as if my kiss was honey. Tired or not I became erect. When my free hands slipped down to cup each small firm buttock, my erection strengthened. When I tried to slip my hand inside to fondle her panties I was disappointed, defeated by tight jeans.

Never the less, fatigue fell from me displaced by desire. I had an overwhelming urge to pick Sydney up and carry her to bed, strip her and eat every inch of her body, that sexy, youthfully slender body I could feel pressed against me. I didn't. She broke the kiss-and-grope session.

"I made dinner," Sydney announced with pride, pulling my hand away from her ass and leading me to the kitchen.

She had indeed made dinner; a frozen lasagna baked in the oven. A salad awaited on the kitchen table. My considerate girl had even put out a beer for me. We ate. We chatted about her day, how she'd visited with Karen most of the day, Karen's mom feeding them before taking them shopping to the mall in the nearest town, the one we'd seen a movie at, "You remember, Dad," and some of the clothes she'd seen and, "Dad, what type of clothes do you think are sexy? I'd like to buy some, if you want. Would you like that?"

I fell asleep in front of the television, exhausted, my stomach full, and the comfort of a charming daughter cuddled to my side.

Sydney shook me awake at just after ten-thirty. I dragged my sorry ass to bed. Despite my sweetly attractive girl appearing once again in that soft pink cotton camisole and pajama shorts outfit, her hair brushed and shiny in a ponytail, long legs bare and sexy, I was quite sure I was too tired to be aroused.

The brush of an unfettered little breast against my arm and another mind-warping sexy kiss, my daughter murmuring as if drinking from the fountain of life, overcame my fatigue and brought on an erection, arousal and desire following closely behind. Still kissing her, I rolled her onto her back, moving over her slightly, my leg settling between her legs, my thigh pressing to her pussy. Still kissing my daughter, with a trembling hand, I gently touched one breast.

It was firm, petite, yet soft and oh so sexy. A gentle caress, my thumb rising up one side to tease her nipple, and Sydney broke the kiss. She inhaled sharply. Her whisper, "Daddy," was almost silent, so full of loving. She pressed her pussy against my thigh slowly.

My erection was pressed to her hip, my thigh pressed to her pussy. I caressed her petite breast over her camisole top and felt her nipple respond and grow firm.

Sydney undulated against me emitting small gasps as she humped my thigh. Her hands clutched at my neck and shoulder. Her eyes closed when I kissed her cheek, inhaled her scent, and gently fondled her breast, my erection now aching and crying out for attention. I started moving, rubbing my thigh against Sydney's pussy as she humped back at me, her breath panting and hot against my cheek, my thumb teasing her nipple. Sydney groaned quietly, curling her hips, humping me, humping me, her hands clutching, breath panting.

Her breathing became ragged, sometimes gasping quietly, sometimes holding her breath. I kissed her softly and she moaned into my mouth, her tongue frisky. She reacted by curling her hips and humping my thigh faster. My erection strained inside my boxers as I rubbed it against her side, hard and aching, pulsing, swelling, a desperate desire to cum building.

Then, with a quiet, sharp inhalation, my beautiful little girl held her breath. Her body strained. A cute frown emerged on her face, her mouth open. She twitched. I pressed my thigh harder against her panty-covered pussy and Sydney gasped quietly, "Oh Gawd, Daddy." Her body suddenly convulsed and she climaxed with a grunt, her pussy humping, legs closing to trap my thigh. Gripping my neck she shook emitting small grunts with each wave of bliss washing over her.

I caressed her beautiful young breast and humped against her side and, as my daughter climaxed so sweetly, so erotically, I came with her, my cock swelling as if ready to burst. A short wave of agony hit me before pressure in my groin released and semen raced up to explode into my boxers, my cock pressed to my little girl. Sydney's climax strengthened mine, another hard, hard explosion erupting, cum flooding my boxers, wet and hot, ecstasy slamming into me. Fondling her breast, humping her hip, my thigh rubbing her pussy, I came hard, semen spurting with pure bliss, pleasure washing through me. I humped and came, humped and spurted until nothing was left.

Drained and exhausted, I slowed. Sydney calmed, her body melting. I relaxed, my body settling partly over hers in post-orgasmic bliss, calm and peace emerging. A rush of love hit me. It may not have been intercourse but experiencing my daughter climaxing had been thrilling.

Cuddling followed despite my messy boxers. Slipping my hand underneath her I rolled her limp body towards me. She smelled different as she nestled into me; the distinct aroma of sex now evident. She murmured and buried her face against my neck, her breath hot.

Not one word was said as we basked in the type of relaxation that only comes after intense orgasms, but twenty minutes or so later the rhythmic wash of her warm breath told me my little girl had fallen asleep. With great care I extricated myself from her and went to clean up. In the bathroom a strange man stared back at me from the mirror; he was smiling with pleasure. I smiled back at him, agreeing.

That night Sydney slept quietly. She didn't move around. She didn't talk in her sleep. She didn't hit me with wayward arms or steal covers. She didn't wake me up. She slept soundly. How did I know? I slept badly, very badly. I kept waking up worried that there was something wrong, she was too still, and finding her quietly asleep, breathing softly, her face relaxed and so very pretty.

Morning arrived and I woke up exhausted, again. Sleeping with my little girl was proving to be a real challenge. She was asleep when I got up. She was asleep, a gorgeous mess in the bed when I dressed. She murmured in her sleep when I nuzzled her and kissed her goodbye. Her scent of a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer with a hint of clean soap and sweetness was intoxicating.

I made mistake after mistake at work. I consumed coffee as if it was the elixir of life and I struggled to get through the day. My ass was seriously drooping when I finally opened our front door.

"Hey, Dad!" Sydney greeted me, running and jumping into my welcoming arms. She grinned and wrapped her long legs around my waist. Her kiss started sweet and innocent, lips against silken lips. I held two lovely buttocks but, despite it all, I was too tired to become aroused.

"Did you have a bad day?" my concerned child asked.

"Nope. Just tired."

"Didn't you sleep well?" she asked.

"No. I didn't."

"How come? I did."

"Lucky you," I muttered, letting her down.

I was too tired to cook. A pepperoni pizza was ordered and delivered and consumed in the living room in front of the television, Sydney enthralled by a showing of the Cirque du Soleil's Alegria. I fell asleep.

Bedtime arrived too soon. I was still groggy and exhausted. With Sydney's comforting scent filling my nose, her hair tickling my face as I cuddled to her on my side, with the sound of the bedroom television on low, and my daughter giggling at some sitcom, I fell asleep.

Her arm thumped into me waking me up not one hour later. She muttered something and twisted, the covers tugged off me. I guided her back with a gentle pull of her shoulder and tried to hold her down, one arm over her, my leg over both of hers. It didn't work. She shifted in her sleep, talking quietly, one leg struggling to get out from under the covers. She rolled and frowned in her sleep and kept waking me up.

Sunlight was not greeted with civility. I cursed and rolled, turning the alarm off before it had rung. My darling daughter was spread-eagled on the bed face down, her head buried under her pillow, one leg uncovered in a familiar pose. She didn't stir when I hauled my tired ass out of bed and into the shower.

Did I care that my sleep was so disturbed? Yup. I did now. Cute, lovable daughter or not I was either sending her packing back to her own bed tonight or I was going to drug her senseless.

With a kiss on her cheek as she sprawled in bed - her only response being a moving foot for some strange reason - I inhaled her wonderful scent and left for work. It was six-fifteen in the morning.

Work was problematic. I fell asleep at my desk and, when my boss asked what the problem was, I unashamedly blamed everything on my daughter. He sent me home. Sydney was gone when I arrived. I made it to the couch and fell asleep, fully dressed with a tie on. Four hours later a hand gently shaking my shoulder dragged me out of my coma.

"What's wrong? How come you're home, Dad? Are you sick?" my daughter asked, her beautiful blue-grey eyes full of worry.

With a groan, I sat up. "Nothing's wrong, Honey. Just tired."

"How come?"

"Because. What time is it?"

"Just after five. What's for dinner?" Sydney asked.

"Dunno. Let me wake up."

We ate out. McDonalds. If Sydney noticed how zoned-out I was she said nothing about it. Instead she gave me a running commentary about her day, spending time with Mary, how they checked out the latest fashions and did I know Capri pants were so not? And, "Can you take some time off for my birthday, Dad? We could do fun stuff together, like see movies or go into the city . . . and shop! Wanna?"

I grunted agreement while nibbling on a French fry. My mind, when not distracted by Sydney's delightfully animated face and five freckles, was on the cusp of a revelation. It hit me as I watched her blue-grey eyes twinkling with personality. Two nights ago she'd slept quietly. Last night she'd been a wrecking ball in bed. There were three things different between the two nights: pink cotton camisole and shorts one night and a nightshirt the second night; a lasagna dinner the first night and pepperoni pizza the second night; and she'd climaxed in bed with me the first night but not last night. I doubted her bed clothes made a difference. Food? Nope. It was the orgasm! Sydney slept quietly after cumming!

Could it really be true? How fascinating!

"Dad? Dad!"

"What?" I asked.

"Was it nice?" Sydney asked.

"Was what nice?"

"Wherever you just went. You left me."

I grinned. "It was a very interesting place," I answered. What a delicious theory to prove; my little girl needing a climax to sleep peacefully!

"So tell me. What was it that took you away?

"Later. Eat up. I want to go home."

The evening was spent in our usual way; in front of the television, this time watching weekly sitcoms. Sydney disappeared at one point to shower and returned in a garish purple nightshirt covered in printed ice cream cones - where did she get them? She made me smile when she announced I'd forgotten to buy more ice cream, giving me a frown of disappointment.

We cuddled and every so often I bent to kiss her, pressing my lips to hers, her mouth so surprisingly small and sexy. Sydney had wonderful lips, animated and arousing and amorous. The tip of her little tongue was sweet and teasing and moist and very delicious. When my arm draped across her shoulder and down to gently cup her petite breast Sydney didn't stop me and, to the sound of canned laughter from the television and occasional laughter from my daughter, I gently fondled a remarkably firm boob, one that was too small for my palm but reacted spectacularly to being caressed, her nipple stiffening. Unsurprisingly, the more I fondled her breast the more intense her kisses became.

Later, in bed, with the lights out, I put my theory to the test. When Sydney came to bed I collected her, physically rolling her and bringing her back against me. We spooned and cuddled. My hand found her perky breast again and, as I caressed it, I kissed her neck. She sighed and pressed her bum back at me, wiggling to get closer than physically possible. With soft whispers I told her how sexy she was, how sweet, how I loved the scent of her, and how much I loved her breasts.

Even with the bedroom television on I heard her sighs of pleasure from my attention. I wasn't impervious, either, an erection slowly forming, penis thickening, growing heavy, rising, arousal making my blood rush. With mounting excitement I let her breast go and stroked down her side, over a bony hip, and down along the outside of her thigh, her bare skin silken to the touch. Just above her knee I guided her leg up and back and over my legs, my hand caressing the inside of her thigh.

Excitement strummed inside me as I slowly edged my hand back up her thigh, her skin silky smooth. I kissed her neck softly and whispered how sexy her legs were, how much I liked them, and how one day I was going to kiss the inside of her thigh, "Right here," I informed her, "And here," I added as the edge of my hand nudged against her cotton-clad pubis, my daughter's pussy, warm and small. Excitement made my breath shaky. A full erection formed as I carefully cupped Sydney's pussy.

She trembled slightly. Her hand dropped down to press against the back of mine. In the darkness, without sight, I explored the shape of an almost thirteen-year-old's pussy and my God it was sexy. Sydney's pubis was so small in my palm, mounded sensually, a firm padded mons. The gusset of soft cotton panties swelled where it cupped her vulva. I couldn't feel her cleft but the warmth and steep sides and shape all combined to give me a mental picture of sweet, erotic perfection. I was actually fondling my daughter's pussy!

Blindly I started caressing her. When her leg slipped off my thigh I brought it back up, opening her for my touch. Hugging Sydney gently, her body almost fragile against me, so excitingly young, I traced her panties with fingertips, seeking her cleft, her clit. Sydney moaned and twitched when I found it. With a deft and gentle touch I rubbed, slowly stimulating her. My erection ached and by rolling away from her it was release to pop up inside my boxers. When I rolled back I was cuddled against her beautifully firm bum, my cock finding the natural groove formed by her small buttocks.

Sydney quietly moaned and moved, humping my hand, her bum caressing my erection. With gentleness, kissing her neck lightly and inhaling her beautiful scent, I played with her clit, rubbing, stroking, and squeezing her pussy. She responded, trembling and humping slightly faster, her buttocks sandwiching my erection.

Sydney's arousal, her mounting pleasure, made me ache with excitement. It was sweet and erotic. I started humping her bum gently, just the slightest movement but enough to bring serious pleasure. My little girl humped my hand faster and faster, her breath panting louder and, when she quietly gasped, "Oh Gawd, Daddy," and her small body convulsed, her climax arriving, I came with her. It was so easy. For the second time I came into my boxers, erection swelling, semen erupting in a burst of hot, wet ecstasy, my child grunting out her climax. Sydney convulsed in my arms, gasping and grunting as if her climax was overwhelming her body. I drowned in her pleasure, thrusting my erection against her bum, semen erupting with blinding bliss, cumming beautifully. Sydney's leg fell off my thigh to trap my hand, her body still shaking from pleasure. Then she gasped and froze, her body rigid, my cock still spurting as I humped against her, cum soaking me. With a surprisingly deep groan, she suddenly collapsed, all soft and liquid and warm and cute, small residual shudders passing through her body as the final waves of her orgasm passed.

Peace slowly arrived on the back of pure bliss, total relaxation that's only achieved when completely drained. We didn't move for a few moments. My hand still cupped Sydney's pussy and I felt her final shivers fade away. Relasing her pussy I hugged her, finding and holding her small breast gently. Inhaling my daughter's scent deeply was my last conscious memory.

Morning arrived with the sharp, intrusive sound of the alarm. Eyes opening, I fumbled behind me to slap it off. Sydney was on her front, her face turned away from me and sound asleep. Damn I felt good, rested and refreshed. It struck me. With a big smile I realized I'd proved it. My daughter slept more peacefully after cumming! How delicious was that? How exciting was that?

Carefully rolling out of bed, unable to wipe the smile plastered on my face, I headed to the shower. My boxers were crusty and uncomfortable, the memory of why making my smile broaden into a stupid grin.

Confession number eleven - That discovery about my little girl charmed and distracted me, and strengthened my desire for her. It was a thrilling discovery; intimate and erotic and just about the sexiest trait I'd ever known.

Sydney didn't stir when I kissed her goodbye, her chestnut hair a beautiful messy disaster, her sweet face completely relaxed. There was a bounce in my step as I left for work. My mind was sharp and clear.

At work I asked for and got two weeks' vacation; the week before and week after her birthday starting the coming Friday, two days away. I was excited. When I got home and told Sydney she was thrilled and immediately started telling me what we'd do, where we'd go, what movies we'd see together, all the while hugging me tightly around my waist.

Dinner of roasted chicken pieces marinated in a spicy chipotle barbecue glaze with side salad of black beans, corn, red onions, and diced red peppers (and an ice cold Guinness Black Lager for me), was just hilarious. It was full of laughter and embarrassment on both our parts. It started with me telling my daughter she was the absolute worst bed partner ever. She was a cover-hog, she took most of the bed by spreading out, she talked in her sleep, and she'd even hit me.

Sydney's eyes grew huge. She immediately responded, "I do not! Do I really?"

With a grin I added, "And that's not all."

Sydney's expression turned wary, her eyes watchful. "What?"

"Remember we agreed we'd talk openly?" I reminded her. When she nodded suspiciously, her hand lowering a fork-full of chicken, I continued, "I adore this about you. If you have an orgasm before sleeping you're quiet all through the night. No tossing, no talking, and you don't hit me, either."

Pink dusted my daughter's cheeks. I watched her wrestle with shy embarrassment and battle through it. A smile emerged. "Did you say you adore it? Adore?"

"Yup. Adore is the exact word for the way I feel."

We ate quietly, Sydney digesting my comments. Her fork paused on its journey to her mouth. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything you want," I assured her.

She inhaled as if bracing herself. "Did you also, um, last night, uh . . .?"

Cute. "Did I have an orgasm, too?"

"Uh-huh."

"You bet. I've never experienced anything as erotic as your climax."

"Really?" Sydney asked in astonishment, all shyness gone.

"Really, truly, honest to goodness. In my heart you'll always be my little girl, but jeez you're amazingly sexy."

"Really?" Sydney asked in a voice one octave higher, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Is that all you can say; really?"

Sydney giggled with pleasure. "Nope. I'd like to see it."

"See what?"

"See your . . . your, um . . . your erection." Pink dusted her cheekbones again. She added in a rush, "I've wondered what it's like, a lot, and tried to imagine and well . . . can I?"

"Okay. Later. Eat up," I answered, nodding at her plate. I could feel an erection slowly forming. "Can I ask you something?" When Sydney nodded, I asked, "That pink cotton camisole and pajama shorts you wear, do you wear anything underneath it?"

Sydney smiled as if it was a secret, then surprised me. "I'll wear it again tonight and you can find out, if you want."

"I most certainly want. How fast can you eat?" I asked jokingly and grinned broadly when my daughter giggled, her beautiful eyes twinkling with excitement and amusement.

Confession number twelve - Sydney, with a twinkle in her eyes and a cute giggle, banished all my remaining worries about intimacy with my daughter. Liberation was exhilarating, truly heady.

Laughter and teasing jokes filled the kitchen as we finished and cleaned up. Sydney literally bounced on her toes as she headed off for a shower. I bounced on my toes a bit, too, finding another beer and settling down in front of the television. A third of my mind followed the news on TV, a third the sound of a shower, and a third assessed the arousal I was experiencing, that delicious first onset of an erection.

I couldn't begin to imagine what Sydney would look like naked. It wasn't something I'd ever considered until now. She seemed so young, so fragile and immature, her body almost without curves. Yet she had curves; lovely small breasts and a sensual ass. She had pubic hair, too. How much? It had been almost a year ago she'd announced the first pubic hair appearing. How quickly did girls mature into adolescence?

Other thoughts meandered in, all erotic. I'd had more than my fair share of female lovers and knew from experience how their pussies were different, individual, some with full inner labia, some with plump outer labia, some with little padding on their mons but full, exciting vulvas lower down. What would Sydney's be like? Would she take after her mother?

Happily distracted with arousing and fascinating thoughts, I was jarred into the present by Sydney's exclamation.

"Hey! You haven't changed!"

A vision of young loveliness in pale pink cotton stood in the kitchen doorway to the living room, long bare legs, a soft camisole top draping suggestively over petite mounds. One hand held a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Her long, damp and straggly chestnut hair hung over her shoulders, her feet bare . . . and a bit large for her body. The spoon in one hand pointed at me.

"Go change, Dad."

"Into what?" I asked.

"Sweats and a Tee. You're still wearing your suit."

As I headed to the bedroom, with the sound of the television channel being changed, my daughter called out after me, "Do you wear boxers under your sweatpants? Never mind. Surprise me!" A giggle followed.

Smiling, I thought Sydney might be interested to know that, just by asking the question it caused a physical reaction that precluded any surprise. Sweatpants couldn't hide erections well.

I changed into navy blue sweats. From the living room Sydney politely yelled out what TV shows were about to start, and which one did I want to see, and how about Two Broke Girls? She kindly decided for me and instructed me to hurry up, the show was about to start, "Where are you, Dad?"

I happened to be grinning at my reflection in a bedroom mirror. I looked ridiculous. My erection, while not a full hard-on was obvious. Going commando - no boxers underneath - was contributing to the problem. I pulled a soft light grey Tee on and tried mental arithmetic - forecasting compound sales of heavy machinery over five years.

"Hurry up, Dad! The show's about to start!"

I might have reached a point where I was feeling liberated in my attraction to Sydney but that hadn't removed my embarrassment at appearing in front of my twelve-year-old daughter with an erection. Hunting through the dresser drawer I pulled out my largest T-shirt, an army green one Sydney hadn't gotten her palms on. Exchanging it with the light grey one I studied myself in the mirror. Satisfied it was long enough to hide my crotch, I headed to the living room.

Sydney was sitting with one leg curled underneath her. She'd managed to get some chocolate ice cream on one cheek. With a smile, she pointed the spoon at the television. "It just started." Her eyes drifted down to study my groin before returning to the show.

"You can have the rest," she told me twenty minutes later, handing me the pint of ice cream, the spoon stuck in it like a metal flagpole. With a shiver and a, "Brr, cold," she cuddled up pulling a cushion over her lap.

"Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically. The previously new pint had less than a quarter of the ice cream left and she'd carefully mined out all my favorite bits of brownie. I ate. It distracted me, the icy, creamy, smooth flavor and rich chocolate taste was one of my indulgent habits. I loved ice cream above all other deserts.

Our slide into greater intimacy was laughably simple. After finishing the ice cream and setting the pint container aside, I wanted to bother my little girl so, with a cold hand I reached down and placed it on her bare thigh under the cushion she'd covered herself with.

Sydney jerked from the cold touch but other than that didn't respond. I did. Under the palm of my hand was silky smooth skin. Sydney's body might still need to develop mature curves but her thigh was slender and tapered and firm. I reacted, my penis responding as my hand gently caressed her thigh, edging higher with every stroke.

In my mind I saw loose pink cotton pajama shorts and the mystery of what lay beneath; panties or not? The edge of my pinkie brushed against soft cotton bringing awareness of how close I was to my child's pussy. Sydney let one hand settle on my thigh, her other lightly rubbing my forearm. I was acutely conscious of how close her hand was to my emerging erection.

Holding my breath, I edged my hand up, my pinkie nestling into her crotch. Under one part of my finger I felt cotton. Under the other part of my finger I felt nothing but naked skin, a warm fold, the side of my daughter's labia. Breath easing out, heart rate increasing, erection forming, it answered one question - no panties!

For a brief moment I became distracted. Sydney had quietly moved her hand and discovered her father's erection. Her gentle hand rested lightly on it where it lay along my thigh. With a delicate touch she explored the shape and size, her fingers and palm light and teasing.

When I looked down at her she was watching the television. The sight of her hand in my lap was even more startling. I watched it move, slowly, gently, learning the feel of an adult erection. Arousal spurred me into my own exploration.

While Sydney traced the shape of my crown, its ridge, and carefully tested the thickness of my shaft with a squeeze, pausing when I reacted by throbbing rather hard, I explored the remarkable and surprising shape of an almost thirteen-year-old pussy.

Sydney shuffled on the couch as I inched my hand inside the wide leg of her pink pajama shorts. At first I didn't know what she was doing but when I suddenly had more room I understood; she'd spread her legs wider. My senses became bipolar; in one moment they were absorbed by the sight and feel of Sydney's hand gently feeling me up and, in the next moment they were blindly exploring her remarkable pussy.

The first surprise came when I felt no pubic hair. Her pussy was bald, hairless; silken soft skin warm to the touch. How? She'd told me her pubic hair had started growing months ago.

With a feather light touch I explored the shape of her vulva, how it seemed to mound out and fill her crotch so erotically, the delicate bulge of her labia, a closed cleft, and a rather full, exciting mons. I couldn't find her clitoris. Sydney's pussy was small and strangely that thrilled me.

The second surprise stopped my exploration.

Sydney was dry. Her pussy was warm and silky and sexy and arousing and full and plump in my hand, but she was dry, not aroused. I stopped touching her.

"What happened?" she asked as I withdrew my hand.

"You're not enjoying this," I said.

"Yes I am."

"But you're not turned on, Sweetheart."

Sydney finally looked up at me. "I am," she insisted, her eyes sparkling and alive and intense.

"But, um, how do I put this? Don't you get, you know, moist when you're aroused?"

"Uh-huh. I am," she insisted.

"Not that I could feel," I said softly.

Sydney took my hand and guided it back to her crotch, her hand holding my middle finger. "I'll show you. Here. Feel here."

She guided my finger down to rest along her slit and started moving it from side to side gently while pressing, each move slowly pushing her labia apart and suddenly there it was. Inside her cleft slippery moisture and heat touched my finger. It was a dizzying experience to feel my little girl aroused. Against the pad of my finger I found a small clitoris and lower, deeper inside her moist slit, as she guided my finger, I touched the entrance to her vagina.

"See?" she whispered. "I am turned on."

Oh yes she was.

My erection strained up inside the sweats. Sydney let my hand go and went back to exploring the shape of my cock, her attention back on the television.

It didn't last. Every time I caressed her clit she shivered slightly, her hand pausing on my erection just to grip it slightly harder. My arousal built to the point where rationality was smothered, desire the only emotion, release the only goal.

"Sit on my lap, Honey," I suggested softly. "I think I'd like a kiss or two." And a grope, I thought to myself.

Guiding Sydney, as she rose to her knees, my erection popped up against my stomach. She straddled my lap and smiled, her hand reaching down to rub me before letting me draw her against me. Her head tilted in a remarkably mature, sensual move, her drying hair flowing over her shoulders. My hands held narrow hips as lips met in a light kiss, an electric kiss.

Slipping my hands up the sides of her body, my thumbs touched the slope of her petite breasts. They were just so perky and firm yet soft and supple. When I teased two nipples Sydney murmured her pleasure, her lips parted and her moist tongue met mine. At the same time she pressed her pussy against my erection and humped slightly. Her gasp ended the kiss.

My erection strained.

Desire for my daughter hit me like a ton of bricks. It was powerful and almost all consuming.

Hugging her, I turned the TV off and stood, Sydney wrapping her legs around my waist. Like a limpet mine she hung on to me as I turned off living room and kitchen lights, checked the front door, and moved towards the bedroom. Her arms wrapped around my neck. I held her sexy bum supporting her.

Bedroom dark, I sat on the edge of the bed and slowly collapsed onto my back, Sydney kneeling astride me. The position was perfect, her pussy pressed to my erection. Freed from supporting her I reached up and gently fondled her beautiful breasts over the camisole, teasing her nipples. Leaning over me Sydney's breasts gained an amazing almost conical shape. They felt slightly larger, too, but just as firm and sexy.

The only illumination came from a soft yellow glow streetlights cast through the bedroom window. In the semi-darkness Sydney's hair cascaded creating a curtain. Looking down at me her eyes sparkled. She smiled with shy pleasure before letting me draw her body onto me. We kissed again.

The kiss started out soft and sweet and, with a not so subtle hump along my shaft, her pussy pressing hard, the kiss became rather heated. Nothing could prepare me for the sensation of fully French kissing a young girl. It was so different from kissing a mature woman. Sydney's mouth was small reinforcing her youth. Her tongue was small, moist, and active. She felt delicately fragile in my arms and that inflamed my desire. When she finally had the courage to probe into my mouth it was sensual and forward and intensely arousing. She must have liked it. Her humping my shaft grew firmer. She emitted a snort of arousal when her clit rubbed against me.

Reaching down, deeply kissing my little girl, I eased my hands inside her soft cotton pajama shorts to finally touch the cool soft skin of her flexing buttocks. Holding them brought home how gorgeous they were, each a perfect handful, sweet and petite. Sydney humped her pussy against me, the tips of her breasts brushing against my chest. She snorted through her nose again and jerked. I knew her signs. She was very close.

I joined in and began moving, humping up off the bed and pressing my erection against her. I hugged her body tightly to mine with one arm and guided her sexy bum with the other, my orgasm building. Its arrival was exquisite. Sydney broke the kiss and buried her face against my neck. She humped my erection hard and fast, her own pleasure about to erupt. My cock strained and ached, Sydney's pussy stroking me, almost fucking me.

The moment arrived, the one that I so adored. Sydney suddenly paused for the briefest moment, her breath held. With an almost unheard long gasp, "Oh Gaaaawd, Daddy," she convulsed, her humping restarting with determination, faster now. Her cute grunts of pleasure washed over me, my child climaxing so sweetly, so damned erotically.

"Sydney, baby," I whispered and, for the third time I came inside clothes, my erection swelling, the ache almost a pain suddenly released with a glorious wave of bliss, semen exploding thick and hot and wet. Utter bliss hit again, my cock swelling and pulsing, a much, much harder spurt hitting me, cum erupting in exquisite pleasure. Sydney snorted and grunted her climax, her face buried against my neck and I came, I came, spurting hard, chasing ecstasy, soaking my sweatpants as I found sweet heaven in a climaxing little girl.

Sydney weighed twice as much when we finally collapsed. Through her back I could track her heartbeat; racing at first and slowly calming. She emitted little sighs as peace and post-orgasmic euphoria arrived. I held her carefully, like delicate china. She emitted a strong aroma of sexy sweetness, a different scent from when she'd sleep but just as attractive.

Eventually, with Sydney moaning in complaint, I eased her off me, rolled out of bed and hit the bathroom to clean up. Sydney was under the covers when I came back. It was a testament to our sexual exhaustion that the television wasn't turned on, nor did I notice I went to bed naked. She cuddled up to me and sighed with deep pleasure. I slept soundly, deeply, beautifully, my little girl quiet and at peace.

Thursday was a repeat of the first time, both of us cuddled and rubbing against each other in bed, Sydney climaxing as she pressed and humped her pussy against my thigh. I didn't cum. It didn't matter. Her sweet climax thrilled me, especially when she gasped in that quiet whisper words that I loved so much, "Oh Gawd yes, Daddy." It seemed she only called me Daddy when finding sexual release and I adored it.

And then it was Friday.

Work ended and my vacation officially started. Two weeks with my girl. Two weeks of freedom and exploration and sexy discovery, flirting, teasing. I was a man with a plan; one week of growing intimacy with my gorgeous almost-teenage daughter followed by another week of unbridled lust and sex and . . .

Not quite.

It was really quite futile to make plans when it came to my little girl.

"Dad! You're home! Yay!" she exclaimed loudly, running and jumping me as I entered the front door.

I caught the scent of something cooking in the kitchen just as Sydney wrapped her arms and long legs around me. Lips hit me, blue-grey eyes twinkling. Dropping my briefcase, I reached down to support her and my hands found two naked buttocks under a short skirt; two compact, firm, twelve-year-old buttocks.

Sydney's kiss was intense; tongue teasing, purrs of pleasure. It had an impact, too, my body responding. When the kiss finally ended, I asked, "Have you gone without panties all day?"

Sydney looked at me in astonishment. "I have panties on," she claimed.

That claim led to me fondling her lovely butt and that led to the discovery of a g-string. In the process of confirmation, I ended up fondling the remarkable shape of Sydney's lush little pussy and finding an erotic damp spot, and, as I explored it, my beautiful daughter sighed with pleasure and rested her head on my shoulder. My erection was complete. It was straining in my pants when she murmured, "That feels so good, Dad. I missed you," and humped my hand. Horniness and lust and love tumbled through me like the rapids of a river; roiling and disjointed and overwhelming, threatening to swamp me.

The "Plan" was officially out the proverbial window.

Four minutes after walking in the front door on a normal Friday evening I had Sydney on her back fully clothed, on my bed, her legs spread, knees bent over my thighs as I hovered over her.

My erection was painful, constrained, and aching to be released. Blue-grey eyes twinkled at me. Lush lips smiled with delight and something else - awareness perhaps.

Sydney's smile broadened. Her fingertips fiddled with the buttons on her blouse opening one after the other, her eyes never leaving mine. With each opened button my breath seemed to shorten, my heart beat increase. It struck me I'd never seen her naked and, at that particular moment, nothing was more important to me. My twelve-year-old naked? Damn!

The blouse opened slightly exposing the edges of a soft white cotton bra with cute little red roses printed over it. Its smallness made it look like a young girl's first bra, no cups, just soft cotton triangles providing modesty but no support.

Sydney, still watching my reactions like a hawk, tugged the blouse out of her skirt and opened the last button. She smiled, eyes twinkling, bewitching, beguiling.

"Wanna see?" she asked in a whisper.

"Oh yes," I answered and sighed when the blouse fell open.

Small breasts mounded sensually underneath soft, thin cotton. Little bumps revealed the location of her nipples. The dichotomy made her so dam sexy; a girlish bra covering very sexy little breasts - such sweet innocence hugely attractive.

My erection strained, precum dampening boxers. Then she reached down. With her legs still bent over my thighs, she slowly drew the hem of her short skirt up. I held my breath.

Jeeeezuuuus.

A skimpy white cotton g-string printed with matching little roses coddled her remarkably plump pussy, a camel toe outlining her sexy cleft. Below the skimpy triangle of cotton her bare buttocks swelled out where they pressed to the bed.

My erection actually hurt it was so hard.

A wave of lust and adoration hit me. Closing my eyes, I lovingly kissed my daughters stomach, her skin warm and silky against my lips. I couldn't stop my moan when I actually kissed the tip of her petite breast then kissed the other. Sydney's hands gently drew my mouth away from her bra.

She wasn't smiling. Her eyes were darker, a grey more than blue, intense, probing. "Daddy, do you think I'm sexy?" she asked seriously.

Rationality had to battle desire before it broke through to me. I shuddered, my body aching for her unlike I'd ached for anyone in my life. I tried a deep breath. It didn't calm me.

"Yes," I answered. "Far, far too sexy. It's hard to restrain myself, Honey," I admitted.

"So don't," she suggested, her eyes probing mine.

"Sweetheart, we agreed to wait until . . ."

Sydney interrupted, her hands gently tugging at me. "It's only one week. What difference does one week make?" And then she added, "Please, Daddy?"

Confession number thirteen - When it came to my daughter I was a pussycat. I had been from the moment she was born and secretly I adored giving in to her. She could make me do anything willingly.

"Please, Daddy?" she repeated.

Yielding was far too easy. It brought with it a sense of release, my spirit set free. I answered her with a kiss, a gentle, loving kiss, her warm lips welcoming mine. Sydney told me of her pleasure in beautiful sparkling eyes and a smile that erupted as we kissed. It made my heart race.

With the decision made, for some strange reason, I lost the overwhelming urgency that was driving me. I was going to make love to my daughter, tonight, me, make love to a twelve-year-old. But I wasn't going to rush, either. It needed to be special, something forever remembered with joy.

Ending the kiss, I straightened up, sitting back on my heels. "I want to change out of these clothes," I said. "I want to shower first. I want to be clean and fresh and maybe eat dinner. Then after we can . . . if you still want to."

Sydney smiled. "Kay."

Bending, I kissed her again, a quick peck, and rolled off the bed. With Sydney watching me - she didn't move or cover herself - I shucked my suit, tie, shirt, shoes and socks. The tent of my erection didn't shame me. Sydney knew it was her impact on me, a sign of my desire. If anything it now excited me.

In the bathroom I turned the shower on to warm up and checked my cheeks and jaw in the mirror. I needed a shave or I'd give my daughter stubble burns.

Movement caught my eye. My breath caught. Sydney entered the bathroom in her bra and little g-string, beautiful and sexy. Undressed, her youthful body was glorious. She had a summer tan and white bikini tan lines and long legs and beautiful slenderness with sweet shyness in her pretty eyes.

"Can I shower with you?" she asked, her eyes dropping to the tent in my boxers.

Trying to be as casual as possible to help her overcome any embarrassment - not that she showed any - I nodded and smiled. "I'd like that very much." With that, I shoved boxers down releasing my erection. Ignoring Sydney, I stepped into the shower, closing the curtain and adjusting the water temperature.

Warm water cascaded over my shoulders. Anticipation made my erection bob. What would she look like naked?

The shower curtain moved. A bare leg entered the bathtub followed by a small, naked bum, her back, and just like that Sydney was naked with me. I was facing her, unashamed of my erection. And then she turned to face me.

Sydney was much, much sexier than my imagination could have conceived. In so many ways she was still a child; slender, narrow-hipped, lanky, slightly awkward in appearance. Yet in many, many ways she was a budding beauty, sensual and sexy with beautiful petite breasts and a rather breathtaking hairless pussy.

Sweet eyes looked at me for approval, for appreciation, for reassurance that she was pretty enough for me. It made my heart skip.

"Sydney, you are simply glorious, truly beautiful," I said, reaching for her hand. I drew her into me, my erection poking her stomach before sliding across to her hip.

Sydney wrapped her arms around my waist and hugged me tightly, pressing her cheek to my chest. "Really?" she asked. "You like me?"

Her simple question revealed so much about her insecurity. It made my heart ache, my desire more intense, my caution now acute.

Our shower wasn't frisky or rambunctious even if it was hugely arousing. Sydney was surprisingly soft and loving, her eyes shy but full of sweet yearning. We washed each other and I actually got to explore the sensual shape of her body. Through my hands I discovered she had lovely sexy curves, her bottom swelling beautifully, buttocks forming a tight valley, the hairless mons of her pussy beautifully full, her labia plump and mouthwatering. Her pussy was very small in my hand as I washed it, the sides deep valleys, and I found it very, very exciting. Even Sydney's breasts were amazing. Less than a palmful, her areolae were surprisingly large, her nipples soft small bumps. Washing them let me explore and appreciate, firm yet soft and yielding.

Sydney's soapy hands washed me, gaining comfort and familiarity and confidence. As I shaved she washed my body with her hands, carefully avoiding my erection. Her hands felt wonderful as they glided over me, soft, gentle, and sensual; an erotic caress. Then she finally washed my erection. Her hands carefully wrapped around my shaft and stroked, almost as if she was masturbating me. One hand dropped to my testicles and washed carefully. My erection strained and, had it not been covered in soapsuds, she would have seen precum leaking.

As I shaved, I said very casually, "I thought you told me you started growing pubic hair a while ago."

Without missing a beat she answered, "I did. I shaved it off when you told me to shave. I read guys like it that way. Do you?"

"What color was it?"

"Almost black. Sorta like my eyebrows."

"Hmmm. Do you like it shaved?"

"No. But if you like it . . ."

"Let it grow, Honey. I like pubic hair," I said, even though her hairless pussy was just gorgeous.

Sydney carefully squeezed my shaft. "Does it hurt when it's like this?"

"No. It aches but doesn't hurt."

"It's not what I expected," she observed, studying it.

"How so? By the way, it's clean now. You should stop washing it," I suggested when a sudden spark of pleasure hit me.

"Sorry," Sydney said, releasing me. "I didn't think it would be so thick. It's hard to tell with pictures. And it's so hard but the skin's soft."

We rinsed and, despite the arousal I was feeling, an easiness and familiarity with each other emerged that was even more exciting. Toweling off, Sydney continued asking me questions. She disappeared to get dressed and resumed right where she left off when arriving in the kitchen dressed in hip-hugging sweatpants and a cotton top, her midriff exposed. My erection by that time had faded into a pleasant thickness. I matched her with sweatpants and an old T-shirt, both of us bare-foot.

Through dinner preparation and eating I found opportunities to touch Sydney driven by a need for contact. It wasn't intimate or sexual, it was just love. I caressed her hair or rubbed her back. Sydney would pause and hug me very, very tightly before returning to whatever she was doing, her animated voice explaining the intricacies of salad preparation, of the correct balance of sauce to salad, and anything else that crossed her mind. While eating dinner I reached across the table to squeeze her hand just because, Sydney smiling brightly in response. Each and every small touch between us held the delicious promise of intimacy, a recognition we were going to become lovers. It was sweet and intense and the most erotic seduction ever; a rare treat I doubted many had experienced.

Cuddled to my side after dinner with a new pint of Ben & Jerry's, television tuned to some Tim Allen sitcom, Sydney thoughtfullly shared, lifting a spoonful of ice cream to my mouth. With a smile I observed that her generosity was lopsided, biased in her favor; one spoonful for me, two for her. When the carton was empty Sydney shivered and cuddled closer, drawing cushions over her and my arm around her shoulder. "Brr. Cold," she exclaimed.

My hand found her tummy. Her hand found my thigh. I caressed and, in the process, her cotton top slipped up. My hand touched smooth bare skin. Memory of her remarkable perky breasts in the shower guided my caress higher. Sydney offered no resistance. She didn't stop me, and actually turned her body slightly for me. With only a slight tremor in my hand I eased it higher under her top and finally cupped a perfect young breast, a bare breast, a firm and very, very sexy breast.

Despite having seen it, it still amazed me. Gravity had no effect on it. In my palm I felt its sexy steep sides, its almost conical shape, lush and bursting and yet still small. Adolescent breasts were truly a marvel of nature and oh so erotic. As I explored and fondled, an erection returned at the intense erotic experience. Sydney's hand caressed my thigh possessively, moving up slowly. She found my erection and covered the shaft, lazily gripping and squeezing, her thumb rubbing the crown.

In so many ways it was an unusual situation. It was casually intimate, no fuss, nothing but gentle intimate touching. Yet it was hugely erotic, desire re-emerging, excitement slowly building. We hadn't even kissed, both of us watching TV. But when the show ended, despite it being only eight fifty-five, I withdrew my hand from under her top and said, "I really need to go to bed now, Honey."

"Kay."

Leading her by the hand I stopped next to the bed. My excitement was obvious; sweatpants tented, no underwear. This was the moment. This was the seduction. These were the memories that would be forever with her. I wanted it to be perfect for her sake. My excitement, which was huge, would have to take a back seat, although truth be told I wanted this to be perfect for both of us.

I had no knowledge of what a young girl dreamed of for her first time. Who could possibly know given her dreams were of a sexual relationship with her father? I couldn't ask, either. How could she know that which she'd never experienced? Unbelievably, nervousness arrived. It was a daunting responsibility.

Sydney's pretty eyes were turned up at me full of nervous excitement and sweet yearning. In her eyes I found guidance. In her beautiful eyes I found insight. I didn't need to know. I just had to pay acute attention to her. She'd show me the way.

"I think I need a kiss," I told her, my thumb caressing a soft cheek.

The sweet, soft, kittenish side of Sydney's personality emerged when she pressed her cheek into my hand. She turned her face up, moved in and pressed her body to mine. Lips touched. Sparks went off.

The kiss started sweetly. Pressure grew. Sydney's eyes closed as lips parted, her arms tightening around my waist. She added sound, a purr, and the moist tip of her tongue teased my lips. It was a disorienting kiss, intense and deeply attractive. I probed her mouth finding moistness, warmth, a sexy tongue and the taste of chocolate. A wave of desire hit. Unable to stop myself, I let my hands slip down to the base of her spine and over the beginning swell of her rear. My fingertips played with the waist of her low-riding sweatpants. Sydney purred, her tongue slipping into my mouth.

With a raging erection pressed to my daughter's stomach, I gave into desire and slipped my hands inside the back of her sweatpants. I discovered two unbelievably sexy buttocks, bare, no panties, rounded and firm, slightly cool to the touch, silky and sensual. Sydney rubbed herself against my erection when I squeezed her bum, my fingertips tracing her butt crack. I pulled her against me and moaned into her mouth, my desire for her now a threatening storm of disorientation.

When the kiss ended, after some deep breaths, I dropped to one knee, my hands resting on her narrow hips. She watched me, her expression serious, lips slightly swollen, her hands finding my shoulders.

Hooking the waist of her sweatpants, I edged them down, her bony hips emerging followed by a soft tummy and that incredible rise of her hairless mons and sensual cleft. Sweatpants fell to the floor and, as she stepped out of them, her pussy moved in a rather mesmerizing way. I couldn't resist.

Reaching behind her to hold two gorgeous buttocks, I kissed my daughter's pussy, a soft sexy mound. In my nose the first hint of her arousal teased; a slightly heady, musky scent that seemed to hit me as hard as the rush of a shot of heroin.

Rising, hands sliding up over narrow hips, I caught the hem of her cotton top and drew it up. Sydney stared into my eyes, smiled slightly, and raised her arms. The top slipped up and off to be dropped to the floor. Two perky breasts stood proud. My hands actually twitched in anticipation of cupping them.

"My turn," Sydney whispered, her hands reaching for the waist of my sweatpants. Her eyes turned down, studying the tent made by a very, very hard erection.

She eased the sweats off, pressing my erection down before it popped up and out, pants collecting at my feet. As if imitating my earlier actions Sydney carefully touched me, brought my cock up to press against my stomach and, in stunning move, bent and kissed the shaft softly, once, releasing my erection afterwards. Waves of arousal washed over me. Restraint was becoming harder and harder, resistance futile.

On tiptoes she tugged my T-shirt up and off, dropping to to the floor. I guided her to the bed. Cuddling naked together was amazing. Sydney was so delicate, almost fragile in my arms. Yet she was all female, sexy and sensuous, her youth now calling to me with a powerful song.

We cuddled and kissed, small pecks, our hands caressing skin. We inhaled each other's scent, rubbed against each other, arousal building. Precum dampened her tummy and she told me she felt it by rubbing herself against me. I caressed the outstanding shape of a twelve-year-old's buttock, small and gorgeous, the desire to kiss it very strong.

Eventually my hand eased between us and carefully held her petite boob, my thumb teasing her nipple. I felt it. Intrigued, I had to look. Rolling back slightly I studied my daughter's breast and inhaled sharply.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Sydney's areola had puffed up forming a second mound crowning her breast, her nipple larger and stiff. Her areola had darkened, flushed in arousal, a dark pink.

"Absolutely nothing," I answered. "God, your breasts are spectacular, Honey," I added worshipfully, gently touching it again. The need to feel her breast in my mouth was strong.

Rolling Sydney onto her back, I smiled at her. "I really, really want a taste. Can I?"

Her smile reached her eyes, pride and pleasure. She nodded and watched as I bent over and kissed the tip of her breast. A firm nipple pressed to my lips. Opening my mouth I first took her puffy areola in. Opening my mouth wider I sucked in as much as I could, almost the whole breast it was so petite. Sydney gasped. Her hands held my head. When I caressed the remarkable areola with my tongue she writhed and arched her chest up off the bed.

I sucked harder loving its firm texture, the soft silkiness of her skin. My erection ached, thick and heavy.

The pop of suction sounded rudely loud when I pulled back. Moving up, I smiled. "You, my dear, have perfect breasts. You should be proud. I am," I said.

Sydney giggled, flushed, pride emerging. It was obvious she loved my adoration, loved that she was bringing me such pleasure. I could see a maturity emerge in her expressive face, confidence building now she knew she could turn me on, excite her father, arouse me.

"They're not too small?" she asked, her fingers combing through my hair.

It wasn't insecurity asking. It was a girl seeking more compliments from someone she wanted adoration from. I did. Unhesitatingly. "No. They're not too small. They fit you perfectly. They suit me perfectly, too."

"Kay."

"I think I'm going to do what I've dreamed about every time I look at you," I told her.

She smiled. "What's that?"

"If it's all right with you, I'd like to kiss every part of your beautiful, naked body."

My little girl's smile broadened into brightness and light. Her eyes sparkled. "Every part?"

I nodded.

"Kay," she whispered.

Under watchful pretty blue-grey eyes I started.

Her fingers were delicate, each receiving a kiss, her palm soft and warm. Inside her wrist I felt her pulse against my lips. She giggled quietly when I kissed the inside of her elbow. Her giggle faded away as my kissing moved up along her shoulder towards her neck.

Brushing chestnut hair out of the way I nuzzled her neck and inhaled her scent, moving up to kiss her earlobe before sucking it. Sydney tipped her head to stop me. My lips found her cheek. I kissed it very gently and murmured, "Mmmm."

Waiting, my breath warm and mouth almost touching her cheek, Sydney responded, turning her face. Our lips brushed against each other in a light kiss, silken lips, small lips. My tongue touched her mouth and before she could respond I backed off, moving to her chin.

She sighed.

With small kisses I moved down her chest carefully avoiding her lovely breasts, circling around them. Both areolae were swollen, her nipples perky. I could sense her desire, her body trembling slightly. She couldn't take it. I smiled when her hands reached for my head and she guided my mouth to her breast.

I kissed the tip lightly and backed off. Sydney moaned. I kissed the twin lightly and edged down. Her stomach was silky soft and warm, my kisses bringing out goose bumps. In the corner of my eye I saw the remarkable rise of her mons. Passing up the temptation, I kissed a small hipbone and shuffled down the bed.

My erection ached and wept precum. My hands caressed and explored her body. My lips touched her thigh, her knee, her foot, her toes. When I kissed the sole of her foot she jerked her leg and giggled. With care I let her leg down to the side and knelt between her feet, my erection jutting up, damp.

While kissing my way up her other leg my attention was riveted on her pussy. It was very different from what I'd experienced before. With her legs parted her cleft was still closed, yet I could see the long clitoral hood coddled by labia. Below there was a slight indent hinting at the entrance to her vagina, and below that her buttocks swelled out where they pressed against the bed. She was full of sexy curves, seductive valleys, and silky skin.

Kissing her inner thigh, a surge of excitement hit me. Just as my nose detected the distinctive aroma of female arousal, that musky, alluring scent, I spotted the glisten of moisture at the base of her cleft; my little girl was horny! With an achingly hard throb my cock leaked precum. For a brief moment I had to close my eyes to reestablish control. It was difficult.

Finally, as Sydney watched me with a raised head, I smiled and kissed my daughter's pussy. That first kiss was feather-light, a brush on her mons. I repeated it kissing the top of her slit and repeated it again kissing her cleft and finally tasting her. The shudder that hit me was deep. Sydney's pussy tasted different from her aroma. She had a light flavor, delicate, slightly musky, slightly earthy, yet sweet, too.

Pressing my lips to her vulva I opened my mouth and eased my tongue between plump labia seeking and finding the small nub of her clitoris. At my touch she gasped quietly, her thighs twitching. I explored. Inside her slit her skin texture changed, glassy smooth and warm. Below her clit she was moist and, at the base, my tongue found the entrance to her vagina, a very, very small opening that both excited and scared me.

Reaching up around her thighs, arms stretched, I caressed both petite breasts and at the same time gently probed into her vagina, making no headway. Moving to her clit, I teased by licking, stroking, sucking, rewarded by a sigh of pleasure and the first response, Sydney tilting her hips up to press her pussy against my mouth. For the next few moments I ate her pussy, loving her taste, her shape, her silken texture, her slow humping. But need was overpowering patience. My erection felt like it was ready to split it was so hard.

With a soft parting kiss, I straightened up, my butt resting on my heels, erection jutting. Stretched out before me was a naked twelve-year-old goddess smiling at me with adoration, her eyes bright. Stretched out before me was a young girl full of love and trust, a beautiful girl that made my desire surge.

I admired her; young, slim, small breasts, hairless little pussy. Then I noticed. It was a shocking revelation. My erection loomed over her and suddenly I understood just how deep I would be penetrating her if she took all of me inside; an impossibility. Suddenly, just looking down, the thickness of my erection registered - almost as wide as her vulva - and I remembered how impossibly small her entrance was against my tongue.

Excitement unlike I'd ever experienced slammed into me, the thought of making love to such a young girl almost overwhelming. But along with intense desire came fear. I was afraid. There was simply no way for us to have sex without it hurting her and, based on what I was seeing, hurting her a lot, too much.

Raw desire battled with fatherly worry. I wanted her so badly. But the truth hurt.

"Sweetheart, I can't," I admitted. "You're just too . . ."

Disappointment appeared on her face, eyes widening. She reached up for me. "Please, Daddy?"

"I can't. It'll hurt too much. You're so small, Honey," I told her, regret hitting me.

"Please? Can't we try?" she pleaded.

God I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. My erection pulsed and bobbed, aching, thick and insistent.

"Please, Daddy? We can stop if it hurts too much," she pleaded.

I was weak. I had always been weak when it came to my little girl. Perhaps we could try and, being very careful, prove to her it wasn't possible, she was just too small, too young.

"Okay," I whispered.

Leaning forward, supporting myself on one arm, Sydney's legs spread and bent over my thighs, I held my erection and guided it. The slippery tip touched her cleft sending shivers of pleasure through me. Sydney's head was raised, watching. I stared as, pushing gently, her pussy bulged, refusing to yield. I pressed harder moving my tip up and down her slit, labia plumping out and, in erotic slow motion, her lips oozed apart to hug the tip of my crown, her clitoris appearing. The sight was shockingly erotic, an adult erection poised to penetrate a child's pussy.

That feeling of fear and excitement washed over me again. Sydney's face showed concentration and a slight frown. I worried, wanting to go on, a small voice warning me to stop before I hurt her. Glancing down it was obvious I'd never be able to penetrate her. I was too big, Sydney's pussy way too small. It was simply impossible.

Sydney's hands curled into fists. She inhaled deeply as if bracing herself. I looked at her. She stared at me, her eyes intense. Without warning she tightened her legs around my thighs and pressed her hips up in a sharp move. She cried out quietly, eyes narrowing and glistening moist with pain. I didn't need to look down to know.

A vise-like grip surrounded the head of my erection unlike anything I'd experienced before. I'd penetrated her and from the expression on her face it had hurt her severely. Her pain was the fastest erection deflating devise in the known universe.

She looked at me in shock. "What happened?" she asked as I shrank and the tip slipped from her tight grip.

When I explained, Sydney expressed her disapproval and informed me, "But it was only a sharp pain. It was almost gone! It's not fair, Dad."

Not sure whether to believe her or not - she could be remarkably stubborn - I cuddled with her, drawing the covers over us, legs intertwined. I groped and fondled, Sydney alternating between giggles and murmurs. She wiggled and groped, too. Kisses restored calm and intimacy. Touches restored desire. Desire and a groping hand restored my erection and, without announcing it, we naturally moved together. I eased myself over her, Sydney parting her legs, knees rising, her eyes bright with arousal and excitement. This time it was Sydney that reached down between us and gripped my shaft, guiding me.

I was above her, almost lying on her, unable to see below. But every sensation told a story. Soft labia kissed the tip of my erection. With Sydney's hands urging, I pressed slightly. She slipped the tip up and down, up and down, each move spreading her cleft, each move edging me deeper. "There," she whispered, holding me in place at her entrance.

We moved in the familiar motion of fucking, just a micro version, tentative, slight movements, testing. My crown pressed against her pussy and eased off, pressed and eased off, precum making her slippery. I was hard again, the type of hard that felt like my cock would burst. I was horny again, the prospect of penetrating my twelve-year-old thrilling. She was slight and fragile underneath me, her scent strong, her body warm and alive. She excited me like no other female had.

It was sudden the second time, too. Suddenly, with a sensual caress, Sydney's pussy yielded to the pressure of my advance and welcomed the crown with a tight, tight hug, warm and moist.

She sighed. "See?" she whispered. "That didn't hurt too much."

"Are you sure?" I asked, my cock throbbing.

"Uh-huh."

With care, I held her, cradling her gently as my weight lowered onto her. Sydney's arms circled my chest. I kissed her, a soft kiss, lips pressing. Her tongue brushed my lips and I responded, our kiss slowly becoming deeper, more erotic. All the while my erection flexed and pulsed in her, just the crown held in sensual warmth, precum leaking.

Sydney started the motion by pressing her pussy at me. My cock made no progress, but when she eased back at the same time I did and hunched up as I thrust gently, the sensation almost took me over the top.

Precum, mixed with Sydney's natural moisture, made her pussy slippery. An incredibly snug sheath slowly surrounded half my shaft gripping me luxuriously. Sydney moaned. My erection swelled suddenly when it hit me. Jesus, I was really having sex with my daughter!

Withdrawing slowly, I paused and reversed, slipping into a tight heaven, a velvet grip, Sydney groaning again.

"Does it hurt?" I asked in a whisper, cradling her.

"No. It feels good," she whispered, her arms tightening around me.

I kissed her. She humped. I moved. And just like that we were making love, fucking each other with a slow, gentle motion. Sydney's breath puffed out through her nose with each slow thrust into her, our lips pressed together. She moaned into my mouth and humped her pussy up at me. I was acutely aware of how deeply I was penetrating her and trying to control myself. But she made it hard. She humped her incredible pussy at me with slow but firm thrusts, deliberate. I stroked into her gently, loving how exquisitely tight she was, how silken her grip, amazed at how much her small pussy could take.

Sydney's full body shudder broke our kiss. She groaned deeply with pleasure. She trembled and humped at me, groaning as if loving each thrust, loving being stretched, loving Daddy penetrating her. I fucked her slowly, my erection swelling, thick and rigid. Slowly, to the sounds of my little girl announcing her pleasure, I penetrated her deeper and deeper. Without realizing it, Sydney's labia pressed to my groin. I was buried in her, completely sheathed in a twelve-year-old, my shaft held snugly by moist velvet. Her cervix pressed against the tip of my cock and I shuddered. I started struggling.

Trying to tamp down the orgasm that threatened was hard. Trying to wait for her was almost impossible. The feeling of fucking Sydney was disorienting in its intensity, her exquisite tightness breathtaking. We moved together slightly faster, slightly harder, slightly more urgently, long strokes, beautiful strokes, smooth and sexy, fucking each other.

I might have lasted until she climaxed but I made the mistake of thinking. I thought about my little girl's pussy stretched by her daddy's erection. I thought about her petite preteen body being penetrated by an adult cock. I thought about how big and heavy I must feel on top of her. I thought about how deeply I was thrusting into her. And I thought about actually cumming inside her, actually filling my daughter's little womb with my semen and I lost it.

I completely lost it.

I managed to gasp, "Jesus, Sydney," and my orgasm slammed into me. My erection swelled, aching, thick. Pressure released. I thrust into my little girl, sealing the tip to her cervix and, in a blindingly pleasurable explosion, semen erupted into her. Holding my child tightly, I withdrew and thrust, semen exploding, ecstasy hammering me. "Oh Jesus," I gasped again, thrusting, cum spurting, sweet bliss. Like a tsunami my orgasm took control. Cradling my little girl I thrust and came, spurting hard, thrust and came, erection swelling, hot thick cum erupting inside her, exquisite ecstasy punishing me, body cramping. I fucked and came into my daughter until I had nothing left, the intense orgasm assaulting me, nothing but dry heaves left, my body cramping, toes curling. Agony emerged. With a final body-arching long thrust I froze.

Released from the orgasm's all-consuming grip, I collapsed on Sydney. Awareness was slow to return. Post-orgasmic bliss flushed through me. My erection softened slightly, still thick and held snugly inside her. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to withdraw from her body.

Eventually I could talk. "Are you okay?" I asked. My climax had been so intense I'd lost awareness of her.

"Uh-huh," she murmured underneath me.

Rolling, bringing her with me, we moved onto our sides, my erection still inside her. Blue-grey eyes looked at me, serious. "Did you like it?" she asked.

"Did you?" I countered, caressing her bare back.

"Yeah," she answered with a sigh. "It was nothing like what I thought it would be."

"Same for me," I told her.

Sydney smiled and clenched her pussy. "It was much better."

I kissed her beautiful smile and relaxed, pulling her into a tight hug. "Yes, it was the absolute best," I said.

"So we can do this again?" she asked.

"Oh yes. Very definitely."

My sweet, sexy Sydney glowed with pleasure and pride. She snuggled against me. I drew the covers over our shoulders, air conditioning suddenly quite cold. Warm together, exhausted from sex and the euphoric release that comes with strong orgasms, sleep lazily drifted towards us. Sydney fell asleep first.

Confession number fourteen - Sex with my daughter was best I'd ever had - no exceptions, no qualifiers - and I was addicted, wanting more, a lifetime of more.

Inside me a conflict emerged. It wasn't guilt. The exact opposite. It disturbed me that I felt no guilt. I should have. I'd just made love to my own daughter, committed incest, and had sex with an underage girl. I loved it.

This sex was unlike any other. Incest made it more exciting. Underage sex made it more thrilling, adding danger. It added an edge that intensified arousal and made my orgasm stronger, much stronger.

Then there was the other aspect. I adored my daughter. I loved everything about her, her quirks, her laughter, her determination, her love. The strength of my love for her added another layer to my joy. I was infatuated and addicted and in love, too.

So why didn't I feel guilt? Was I amoral? Another thought hit me; where could this relationship go? Could it last undetected?

Less relaxed than I should have been, I let sleep take me away, kissing my daughter's soft cheek as a final act.

Saturday morning arrived slowly, languidly. My body was rested. I had an inner peace pervading me. My nose twitched as I caught the scent of Sydney. Memory rushed in. An erection formed. It felt good.

I could sense her next to me. Opening my eyes I saw her and smiled. She was on her front facing away from me, her head off the pillow. One leg was on top of the covers, one arm hanging off the side of the bed. Covers conformed to her body revealing her slim youth and the sensual curve of her ass. Her chestnut hair was a lovely disaster.

Under those covers she was naked, gloriously naked. My erection strengthened. Her back moved slightly with each quiet breath. While I wanted to wake her up and immediately make love to her, better judgment prevailed. She'd have to be sore. I'd let her sleep.

The shower distracted me enough to lose the erection. Shaved and dressed I started coffee and wondered what she'd like to do today. I puttered around in the kitchen putting last night's dishes into the dishwasher and washing pots and pans. Kitchen clean, I poured a mug of coffee and went to the front door for the morning paper, The New York Times.

At the kitchen table, deep into the financial pages, a sleepy, sexy girl reached around from behind to hug me, her face nuzzling my neck. "Morning, Dad," she greeted me.

I rubbed her arm. "Morning, Sweetheart. How do you feel?"

Her hug tightened. "Fantastic. What's for breakfast?"

"Anything you want."

While she made anything she wanted - which turned out to be granola with strawberry yoghurt, her favorite, and a glass of orange juice - I studied her. She'd obviously come to the kitchen right from bed with a short stop to put on her perennial sweatpants and old soft cotton T-shirt; her comfy clothes. She hadn't brushed her hair. It was still a magnificent tangled mess. She had sleepy eyes and a dopey happy expression. Her movements exuded comfortable ease, relaxed. This was a different girl from yesterday.

She caught my inspection and smiled, a rosy color dusting her cheeks. "What?" she asked, taking a spoonful of granola and chewing.

"I was just thinking how lucky I am."

Sydney smiled while chewing, her blue-grey eyes twinkling beautifully.

I continued, "And I was wondering what you wanted to do today. It's the first day of my vacation, remember?"

She nodded and swallowed, taking a sip of OJ before speaking. "I've got softball tonight. But since it's your vacation we can do whatever you want. What do you want?" she took another spoonful of granola.

I wanted her, again. However, I still hadn't figured out the boundaries of our new relationship, the guidelines that would protect us from discovery, and that made me slightly nervous. We'd entered into a high risk relationship.

"We have chores to do," I commented casually. "After those we have some grocery shopping to do. You ate the last of the ice cream." And grinning, I concluded with, "And somewhere through all that I'd like to jump your bones."

Sydney choked on her granola, swallowed, coughed, gulped her orange juice and laughed with pleasure. It was obvious my desire for her made her feel good. Then she blushed.

"I'm a bit sore," she admitted apologetically.

Unfazed and with a straight face I immediately told her there were many, many ways to have sexy fun. Intercourse was only one way. "Would you like me to demonstrate?"

She laughed, blushed, and nodded, "Okay!"

"Done. But later, though."

Chores were attended to throughout the morning. It didn't stop me from grabbing her every so often and drawing her into a kiss, my reward being eyes that sparkled with pleasure at being desired. She laughed brightly at my buttock groping and danced away. She sparkled and fizzed with happiness. It was a beautiful sight. When girls know they are desired they shine with a special joy and Sydney was a supernova.

We made it to the softball game but not without some bumps. Our relationship had been defined more sharply during the day. Sitting in the raised bench seating I smiled to myself and shook my head.

With the sounds of a boisterous game being played I reminisced over our shopping trip earlier in the afternoon. Sydney had revealed an awareness that impressed me. We'd been strolling towards the local Safeway and after checking we were alone, for the heck of it, because I could, and because her butt looked so damned good in jeans, I'd squeezed a buttock. Sydney's reaction had been immediate and not what I expected.

She'd reached behind her and shoved my hand away saying, "Don't!" in a forceful hiss. "Someone might see!"

There'd been no giggle, no laugh, no smile. She'd been extremely serious, her eyes stern. Surprised, as we shopped the aisles I asked why.

"Because," she'd said and after glancing around to check that we weren't likely to be overheard, she continued in a whisper, "I don't want anyone to know about you and me, Dad."

My first reaction had been disappointment. Sydney was now ashamed of our intimacy? When I challenged her on it she glared at me as if I was stupid. Turns out I was. She seriously told me that she didn't want to lose me and if people knew about us we'd be separated, "And I don't want to live without you," she stated firmly, "So behave!"

Properly chastised, I did. Sydney had demonstrated a remarkable maturity in her behavior. She'd also revealed how serious she took our new relationship. To her it was permanent not a passing fancy and I liked it. I still hadn't figured out how we'd manage in the long term but I was beginning to believe we might just manage.

A crack of a bat brought me back to the game. I hooted and hollered earning disapproving stares from some parents and broad grins from my daughter and her teammates. Her team was slaughtered. They laughed and had fun anyway. It was wonderful to watch.

Sydney made a dash for the shower when we got home, yelling over her shoulder for me to find a movie. I found a beer. Choosing a movie for her was a wasted effort. Still. Smiling, I found Arnie in Conan the Barbarian and relaxed.

Her voice echoed out from the kitchen. "What flavor ice cream do you want?"

"Chocolate Fudge Brownie," I yelled back. I wasn't sure why she asked. I always chose that flavor.

Sydney emerged from the kitchen in some God-awful silver and gold glitter-covered green and pink nightshirt. Where in Hell did she get them? This particular masterpiece of ugliness even had half the glitter missing. It looked like green and pink had run together in the washer to form a delightful shade of puke.

She smiled brightly, chestnut hair dark, damp and straggly. Plunking herself down next to me she took a bite of ice cream from the bowl, grabbed the remote and turned to the TV guide. HBO was showing Tangled. She picked it, tossing the remote aside onto the couch. Snuggling close she offered me a spoonful of ice cream. I tasted Ben & Jerry's Hazed & Confused. That was poetic. So much for asking me what flavor I wanted.

It didn't matter. When I hugged her shoulder she stopped eating and drew my hand under her arm and across her body, turned slightly, and placed it over her little breast. She returned to eating ice cream. I fondled perky perfection slowly, teasing a soft nipple until it woke up. Damn it was sexy.

I made a mistake that night. Fondling Sydney, teasing her nipple and generally having a great time, I was distracted; a little boy with a new toy. When she yawned and claimed exhaustion not horniness, we went to bed. It might have been the emotional stress I'd experienced over the last couple of days but, after some cozy necking and cuddling, with the bedroom television tuned to an old movie, and the scent of my daughter relaxing me, and despite a semi erection, I inadvertently fell asleep.

I paid for that egregious error in judgment at just after one in the morning - Sydney's arm thumping onto my back as she tossed and turned. It rudely woke me from sweet dreams of cuddling and kissing and groping a twelve-year-old. Trying to compensate for my stupidity, I tried to pin her to the bed with an arm across her back and a leg across her thighs. It stopped her from turning but kept me awake. Then she started muttering in her sleep, the odd word actually intelligible; "don't," "vacuum," "strawberry," "hedgehog," and making me smile, "Daddy."

Every time she calmed and I'd drift off, she'd twist, not slowly but energetically, shocking me awake. I had an awful sleep. I hated the sun when it arrived. Sydney was splayed out, one bare leg over the covers and her head buried under the pillow. Three quarters of the queen-sized bed was occupied. Mentally groaning in complaint I rolled out of bed and hit the shower, my ass dragging. I swore at my oversight and actually muttered aloud as I shaved, not pleased with the red-rimmed eyes that stared at me from the mirror.

Coffee made me more civilized. When Sydney wrapped her arms around me from behind and nuzzled my neck emitting a, "Mmm, morning, Dad," I caressed a bare arm and actually managed a smile.

Over breakfast of toast and jam I asked my delightfully bouncy bright-eyed daughter, "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, smiling, eyes clear and twinkling.

"Those nightshirts you wear are as ugly as sin," I commented.

"Thanks!"

Sleep deprivation was playing havoc with my brain. It sounded like she enjoyed their awfulness. "You like them?"

"Yeah."

"If you know they're horrible why do you buy them?" I asked.

"Cuz."

Waiting, she was unforthcoming with greater clarity and, in my state, I needed lots of clarity to understand anything. "Cuz what?"

"Do you care if old T-shirts get holes in them?"

"No."

"See?"

"No."

With a sigh, she added, "It doesn't matter if these nightshirts get stained. They're ugly to start with so it makes no difference. That's why they're so great. I love them."

I opened my mouth to ask why they'd get stained and gave up, retreating to the mug of coffee.

Fatigue screws with cognitive abilities and the decision-making process. It fogs the brain and makes the world just a bit detached and wonky. It wasn't a nice feeling. While Sydney busied herself and eventually left to visit a friend for lunch, I slouched in front of the television and found entertainment that matched my current I.Q. - NASCAR at the Pocono Raceway.

Intellectually stimulated, I fell asleep.

Snoozing on a couch on a Sunday afternoon is a basic human right. It's relaxing, the sleep not coma-like but full of dreams shaped by sounds coming from the television or from outside open windows or from activity in the home. Mine was perfect. It started with me driving a Chevy around an oval, laughing as I led the pack by ten car-lengths. Then some bastard in a green and pink Toyota with shades of puke overtook me. In revenge, I eased up in the slipstream and bumped him from behind.

Somehow the bump was against a soft shapely form. That form smelled of sweetness and pizza. It wormed back at me and seemed to fit me perfectly. My hand explored and I discovered the hills of the undiscovered country; a slender side tapering to a rising bony hip, curving around a shapely rear. Slipping my hand around the interesting object I found flatness. A magical hand guided mine and suddenly I had a hillock in my palm. It was rather exciting, a delightful little mound.

An erection formed. Being turned on by some strange being was odd yet pleasurable. Then it murmured, waking me up.

Sydney had snuggled with me. She'd obviously returned from her friend's and donned her perennial outfit, sweats and a soft Tee. She smelled wonderful, felt wonderful. Her perky breast felt wonderful, too.

When she wiggled her bum back at me, pressing against the erection that rudely announced itself, I became somewhat excited. Sleep had refreshed body and mind. Now my soul needed refreshing and sex with my daughter would do very nicely.

It was very casual. First, I burrowed underneath her Tee to hold a bare boob, caress, squeeze, and fondle it, teasing a soft nipple until it stiffened. It stiffened my erection, too.

Sydney spoke with her body giving me small presses of a delectable behind, her hand rubbing the back of mine or caressing my arm. On her side she had remarkably sexy curves, her hip rising, her rump rounded, her thigh tapered. Easing my body away from hers slightly, I slid my hand down and under the waist of her sweatpants, under her cotton panties, and groped her gorgeous ass. My daughter had a world-class ass. It was petite, sensually shaped, one buttock a beautiful handful, the skin silky and cool to the touch. It had delightful curves that swooped into her crotch and blended with firm thighs. It had a valley of mystery that clenched delightfully when probed. I adored my daughter's ass.

Lazy Sundays were a particular joy. Today was no different. I had no desire to expend more energy than needed. Getting up and heading to bed was too much to ask. Instead, still not having spoken a word, I talked to Sydney with my hands. Tugging her sweats I eased them along with her soft cotton panties down over one hip exposing one buttock. When my hand delved down, Sydney raised her butt enough for me to ease the other side down. They collected on her bent legs at mid-thigh. Some quick maneuvering on my part and jeans and boxers were collected at my thighs, too, my erection magically finding the sexy gap formed by a twelve-year-old's pussy and sexy legs.

Holding a hip, I pressed forward. Sydney eased her legs apart as much as her sweatpants would allow, which wasn't much. My erection forced its way along her pussy, the tip emerging in front. She clamped her legs together trapping my cock very nicely.

Words still hadn't been spoken.

Sliding my hand back to her stomach, I burrowed under her T-shirt and once again held a gorgeous, sexy, pert breast. I finally spoke. "This is nice. Who are you?"

Sydney giggled silently. "I'm Moira. Can't you tell?"

"Ah. I should have known. Your boobs are cuter than my daughter's," I said with a soft grope, my erection flexing.

Sydney giggled again and squeezed my erection with her legs. "How do you know what your daughter's boobs are like?" she asked.

"She walks around half naked all the time."

She laughed softly. "I do not. Where's the remote?"

Reaching up over my head for the remote on the side table, my groin pressed against her bum making my erection rub delightfully along her pussy.

"Here ya go."

"Thanks. What do you want to watch?" she asked taking the remote control.

"NASCAR," I said.

"Kay." She promptly started flipping channels and settling for some alien show called MTV Cribs.

"That isn't NASCAR," I pointed out.

"Nope. It's better. You'll like it."

I didn't really care. Other nicer, more erotic things were occupying my brain. Hugging Sydney, erection pulsing nicely, I moved slightly, the smallest back and forth motion. Sydney moved, too. She opened her legs enough for her warm hand to cup my erection, pressing it against her pussy. I throbbed. Very nice.

"This feels good," she said softly.

"You're not sore?"

"No."

Smiling, I said, "I'm horny. Are you?"

Sydney giggled and slightly humped my shaft as an answer.

For the next five minutes or so I luxuriated in the erotic joy of intimacy. My erection was thick and pulsing pleasantly, cradled by soft twelve-year-old thighs. I had a delightful little boob in my hand that slowly changed, first the nipple puckering up, then the areola swelling, all as a result of some loving touches and soft squeezes. Sydney smelled good. Her body seemed to mold to mine perfectly. And once again I found myself adoring how delicately fragile she felt, still not a teenager, yet intensely desirable.

I became aware of precum leaking when Sydney moved her hand. She found slipperiness and rubbed her palm against the tip of my erection spreading it around. Motion started as small humps, more like clutches and throbs at first. Slow, short thrusts suddenly became silky smooth as precum spread, the strokes gradually growing longer but exquisitely slow. Sydney watched TV. I hugged her.

It didn't take long for her pussy to become very slippery. I was extremely horny. But, as we humped together languidly Sydney started pressing my crown against her pussy with greater and greater pressure, her hips tilting, curling her ass back at me and on one such move the tip of my erection seemed to sink into her cleft slightly.

She inhaled audibly, pausing. Her fingers pressed my crown harder, adjusted the angle of her bum and, in an exquisite slow move, her pussy oozed apart, moist and warm. My crown squeezed into her slowly, her opening stretching, stretching. Suddenly my crown was penetrating her. My erection swelled with a surge of arousal.

We paused, her hand pulled away, legs closing. Neither of us said a word. With a gentle squeeze she instructed me to move. I did. Thrusting gently and withdrawing I worked my thick erection into her exquisitely tight vagina, my shaft gripped by warm velvet, my crown caressed. With her knees bent I penetrated her slowly until, with a mental sigh, I was as deeply buried inside her as the position would allow. I stopped moving. I wondered how long I could stay like this. The combination of a hard pleasing erection ensconced in a tight, tight pussy, with arousal washing over me gently, and my little girl in my arms, a beautiful perky breast in one hand, her scent, her wonderful scent in my nose, was pure heaven.

We watched television. Sydney would occasionally squeeze her pussy sending bolts of desire through me. Occasionally I'd flex my erection and she'd respond with a gentle clench.

And then, as a commercial break arrived, Sydney casually asked, "What does it feel like to be inside me like this?"

"It feels warm and snug and incredibly good. You're so tight you make me feel big. It feels like . . ." I flexed my erection. "Like I never want to leave. I've discovered heaven. What does it feel like to you?"

After a brief silence, Sydney said, "It's hard to describe. I feel stuffed and stretched. There was a twinge of pain when it first went in but it passed. I can feel all of you. I feel full and that feels really good. It makes my pussy tingle."

"Do you like it?"

"Oh yeah. Lots."

Unable to restrain myself, I eased back, withdrawing slowly, reversed and pressed back into her, my cock swelling from the exquisite sensation.

"Mmm. Do that again," Sydney said softly, her buttocks clenching.

I did. Damn it felt good. Letting her breast go, I reached down and cupped her pussy, my middle finger finding the nub of her clit. Sydney's hand settled on the back of mine. She sighed when I caressed her clit and started humping me slowly.

Her moist pussy eased up and almost off my erection and just before my crown emerged, she reversed, taking me into her, a silken glove slowly surrounding me. She repeated the move, slow and languid, sexy, arousing. I joined her. We were fucking; penetrating and withdrawing, her vagina massaging me, my erection swelling and aching. We moved together easily, comfortably, no rush, no frenzy. I teased my daughter's clitoris and as her arousal grew so did her motions, fucking back at me slightly faster. Sighs of pleasure started evolving into quiet little grunts, her hand gripping mine, pressing my hand against her pussy.

Small tremors emerged, her legs clenching lightly with each thrust. My erection thickened and grew heavy. I fucked my little girl with growing need, desire for release, for ecstasy emerging. Thrusting slowly with short strokes, teasing her clit, inhaling her scent, my orgasm stirred. Sydney started pressing back at my erection with harder, short jabs, her breath ragged. She moaned quietly, her body paused. She gasped softly, "Gaawd yes, Daddy," and convulsed, her pussy clamping down on my cock almost painfully. She grunted softly, her whole body convulsing gently and, as another wave of her climax hit her, she shoved her ass back at me burying my erection deep. Her pussy gripped my erection and as I tickled her clit she let out a little yelp of pleasure, her body jerking and trembling.

It was enough. It was more than enough. Sydney's climax was thrilling and sexy and so unrestrained. With a huge sigh of delight I let myself go. Thrusting into her my orgasm rushed in. My erection swelled making her feel even tighter. With a dizzying burst of bliss I came, cock pulsing, semen erupting, ecstasy, ecstasy. Sydney grunted and shoved her pussy back at me and I exploded again, a huge, endless spurt of cum bringing a massive wave of pleasure, thick semen flooding her. Urges took control and I fucked my little girl, cumming hard, spurting, cumming, semen exploding, cumming until I was drained, done, empty, my heart racing.

My thrusts slowed and stopped, my cock pulsing with dying contractions. Sydney was quiet in my arms. Peace washed over me, languid relaxation, love. I kissed her hair. She murmured and pressed back at my softening erection.

"You're gonna kill me," I whispered. "But I can't imagine a better way to die."

Sydney giggled silently.

For the rest of the day we lazed around. Sydney chatted brightly and every time she noticed the intensity of my stare a slight color emerged on her cheeks. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Love aside, I was infatuated with her. She lit up my life in every way.

That night she slept quietly making me smile. What a strange and mystical creature she was. I adored her. I also slept soundly.

Life seemed to be heading in the right direction; comfortably fun and adventurous. Sydney loved being desired. It showed in her bright, sparkling laugh when I'd chase her demanding a kiss, a hug, or a grope - mostly a grope. She was very grope-able. I experienced sweet young love, something I'd never been exposed to in my youth and it was intense and wonderful.

I was also the recipient of adoration and that was a powerful, powerful emotion. While Sydney was free and easy around me even with things sexual, there were little peeks of another side of her. That other side was the one that strived to please me. It was the side that asked if I liked sex with her, if I was happy, what did I want to do? I ignored that aspect to her personality hoping it would fade away as she grew in confidence. It never did.

I thought our relationship was settled. I saw no problems ahead except for being careful about keeping our relationship private and even that part I had confidence in given Sydney's rather mature attitude towards it.

Life isn't that simple, though. It just isn't. There's a malicious streak to whoever watches over us that appears whenever we're having too much fun; Nature's natural balance - a reminder that life requires effort.

Monday brought angst and anger and regret and shame. Monday was a bad, bad day. I actually lost my temper with Sydney, genuinely disappointed with her. I should have known to hold my tongue and count to ten thousand before snapping at her but fear overrode better judgment.

At breakfast Sydney complained that dinner last night must have been off in some way. She complained of stomach cramps. I didn't think anything of it until later that morning when she announced, "It wasn't your cooking, Dad. I got my period."

The acidic spurt of fear that hit me, the prospect of getting my twelve-year-old daughter pregnant, slammed into me and I reacted far too harshly. "Goddammit, Sydney!" I fumed. "What happened to the pill?"

A shocked expression emerged, Sydney stunned by my reaction. "I forgot," she said quietly.

"Jesus Christ! You could have gotten pregnant!" And, driven by fear I added, "How could you be so thoughtless and irresponsible? You've really disappointed me."

And that was that. Sydney burst into tears and fled. I stood locked in place, shocked by her reaction. It acted like a dousing of cold water on my anger and then it hit me. She'd been taking the pill for less than two weeks. Why did I assume she'd be religious in taking it when it was so new to her? She was a young girl. Young girls forget. And then another realization hit me. If she was having her period she'd be abnormally emotional, ultra sensitive, and what had I done? I'd yelled at her, essentially called her stupid, and worst of all, told her she'd disappointed me! Sydney! The sweet girl who constantly worried about pleasing me!

Fuck! FUCK!!

It was a case of déjà vu. Opening Sydney's bedroom door I was greeted by a familiar and unwelcome sight; my daughter curled up on her bed, facing away from the door, crying. This time her room was neat and orderly except for some white cotton panties with little red roses on the floor next to the laundry basket.

Words of apology would have been nice but human touch was far more expressive. I settled on the bed and once again spooned my crying daughter. I hugged her gently, my touch talking; I love you, I care about you, I'm so, so sorry. I kissed her crown letting her know I still adored her and tightened my hug, really, really tight letting her know how precious she was to me. I had a physical conversation with her, father to daughter, lover to lover, and she responded.

Her crying slowly stopped. Her hands once again found my forearms and caressed. I actually felt her body relax, muscles melt.

I spoke. A whisper in her hair. "Sorry."

Sydney sighed, releasing the last of her angst. She whispered, "Me, too."

It took two days of hard work for me to undo the damage I'd caused. I'd hurt her emotionally when she was vulnerable, a father's words made harsher by her love and adoration for me.

I paid for it, too. My darling daughter might have only suffered from her period for a couple of days - it was still a bit erratic - but she was back to being a restless sleeper, shoving and knocking into me, jarring me awake. The second night, at three in the morning I actually gave up and left my own bed to sleep on the couch. The couch was temperamental. It liked me sleeping on it on Sunday afternoons but hated me sleeping on it at any other time; it was extremely uncomfortable.

The hardship I experienced was rewarded, though. Sydney returned to her old self and that self was hysterically funny at times. I caught her scratching her crotch like a man at one point and asked what was going on. She frowned and declared shaving pubic hair was cruel and unusual punishment. "It itches growing back, Dad!"

"So don't shave it," I suggested.

"I won't!" she declared with determined commitment.

However, for several days she'd scratch her crotch and what made it funny was she did it unconsciously. Then she'd catch me watching and smiling at her and she'd frown at me as if shaving her pubes had been my stupid idea; just beautiful.

Something else emerged, too. I watched Sydney carefully, unobtrusively, an eye always on her. Initially it was just to reassure myself that she was emotionally recovered. In the process, observing her dancing to music playing into her ear buds as she sorted laundry, her gorgeous ass moving seductively, and seeing how beautiful and sexy she was despite lacking mature curves, an interesting desire emerged inside me.

I really was attracted to her youth. She was sweet and petite, on the cusp of maturity and it was an intensely arousing stage of her adolescence. It brought out a rather basal desire in me. I was no angel. I never had been. I'd experienced and enjoyed sex with women just for the pleasure of sex; not making love, not soft loving intercourse - sex for the sake of sex, raw and enjoyable.

Watching my Sydney brought out that desire in me. She attracted me powerfully. I started wanting. I began to dream of selfish sex, the type where satisfaction and release were the only concerns. I wondered what it would be like to have that sort of sex with Sydney. What would it be like to hold her petite body and take her hard, unbridled sex?

The thought was so appealing I couldn't forget it. Time only made it more attractive.

As the week passed we didn't live in each other's pocket. I had a long list of household improvements and repairs I'd collected through the year that required my attention. Sydney had her active social life restored and that kept her busy, too. Time flew. Her thirteenth birthday approached.

I'd planned her birthday with care. In order to cover all the bases I planned a big barbecue party for Friday night - her birthday was Sunday. With the collusion of a few of her friends it was to be a surprise party. Personally I liked surprise parties as much as I liked genital warts - not much. But Sydney loved surprises.

The second part of her birthday gift was a trip. I was taking Sydney to New York for her birthday; luxury hotel, shopping, room service, shopping, eating out, shopping, sightseeing, and, of course, shopping. I was sure a newly minted thirteen-year-old would be in seventh heaven. We'd leave on Saturday afternoon.

Friday arrived and Sydney was distracted, one of her friends taking her on a shopping trip to the mall using some fabricated excuse. I set up for the party, prepared a mess of ribs - Sydney's favorite barbecue - and generally fussed and worried. Her friends, including the entire Tiger Cats softball team, arrived late in the afternoon, all excited, chattering and loud. Sydney was stunned when she walked through the front door. She squealed in delight, jumped up and down, and was promptly swamped.

As the co-coordinator, chef, waiter, and busboy, I was kept hopping all evening. But at one point Sydney actually talked to me, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and gave me a big hug. She also had a pretty blonde girl with her and, with a grin, said, "Dad, this is Moira. Remember?" I might have blushed slightly as I shook her hand and the memory of Sydney and me on the couch having sex came back. Sydney hooted with laughter and headed off with the blonde girl.

The party finally wound down by close to eleven o'clock, the last of the girls making boisterous noise as they departed. Sydney hugged me when the front door finally closed. "Thanks, Dad."

Cleanup took half an hour and I was done, physically exhausted. Tomorrow we'd need to pack and head to New York. My bright and buoyant daughter was anything but done. She chatted away following me around, relating all the important events in her friends' lives. She happily told me all about her birthday party as if I'd been absent from the event, and positively glowed with happiness. It was wonderful to see.

But I was beat, honestly exhausted.

She came to bed in a horrendous navy blue nightshirt with neon lime green swirls (where had her sexy pale pink camisole and pajama shorts gone?), slipped under the covers and cuddled up to me. Without her asking I handed her the TV remote and she changed channels. I was beginning to believe it was the action that was important to her, not the show on TV.

Satisfied with a rerun of Two and a Half Men, she snuggled. "I'm not sleepy, Dad," she announced.

"I am."

She lowered her voice into her suggestive tone and reminded me, "My period's finished."

Fatigue magically melted away. However, this was a matter of control. It was important for me to demonstrate I had command and control in our relationship. "Good for you," I answered.

Apparently Sydney hadn't received the memo about command and control. Her hand rubbed my bare chest and edged down. "It's been too long. I'm horny, Dad. Are you horny, too?"

"No. I told you. I'm tired. I need to sleep."

"Not," she declared with a giggle, her hand discovering my traitorous erection.

"I don't have any stamina," I claimed, my hand caressing her back. When I felt no hint of panties under her nightshirt my erection grew.

Sydney rose up on one elbow and looked me in my eyes. She grinned impishly. "Don't worry. I'll do all the work this time."

I chuckled inadvertently. So much for command and control.

Her hand squeezed my shaft over the boxers. Still grinning she said, "I want to see you cum. I've wondered what it's like in real life. Can I?"

As if! An idea hit me; more like a vision. "Okay," I agreed and rationalized my vision as my sacrifice for a peaceful night's sleep. Rolling I reached into the nightstand drawer and fished around. I handed a small bottle of lube to her and settled on my back, arms slipping under the pillow.

"What's this?" she asked, reading the label.

"K-Y."

"What's it for?"

"Have you ever rubbed yourself raw playing with yourself?" I asked. Sydney's blush answered my question. "That's lubrication so I don't get sore."

"Oh." After a moment's consideration she added, "OH!" She blushed beautifully and grinned at the same time.

"Get to work," I instructed.

She giggled. She got to work. Sitting up she ordered me to lift. I raised my ass. She tugged my boxers off, wrestling slightly when they caught up on my erection. Demonstrating her excitement she straddled my legs, her knees to either side and, with a very cute frown of concentration, popped the lid of K-Y open, studied my straining erection, and squeezed far more liquid over it than we'd need. The lube was chilly.

Glancing up at my face, Sydney asked, "Ready?" her hands slowly gripping my shaft.

I grunted something, distracted by small hands slowly stroking my erection up and down with a slight twisting action, Sydney looking like she was taking a test, eyebrows furrowed. A wave of arousal hit me making it difficult to remember something important. What was it?

My cock swelled.

Concentrate!

Oh yes. I needed to sleep rather desperately tonight. "Sweetheart?"

"Hmmm?"

Waiting for her to actually look at my face took too long. "Stop stroking me."

That got her attention.

"Why? Was I doing it wrong?" she asked.

"No. It's just there's a better way."

Her dark eyebrows arched. "How?"

"Are you wearing panties?"

"Nope."

"All right then. Get rid of that ugly nightshirt and sit on me."

With a puzzled expression Sidney observed, "I am sitting on you."

Flexing my cock to make it bob up off my stomach with each word, I clarified, "Sit . . . on . . . me."

Sydney's eyes glanced at my moving erection. She graced me with a hint of rosy red on her cheeks and, smiling brightly, enthusiastically agreed, "Okay!" Her nightshirt was tugged up and off, tossed to the floor. She shuffled up on her knees, her eyes focused on my erection, hands resting on my stomach.

The view was magnificent. Pert breasts moved with sexy jiggles, her areolae rosy pink, nipples soft. Astride me her hips and thighs gave her sensual shape. But the breathtaking sight was Sydney's pussy. Knees spread, her cleft had parted, plump labia spread to reveal a long clitoral hood, the glistening moist interior of her slit and, making my heart wake up, at the bottom of her slit, the smallest dark opening, my daughter's vagina, so impossibly small.

Distracted by her sexy pussy I watched her settle down on my shaft. It was a stunning move. Her full labia hugged my shaft, bulging out to hold it like the bun holds a hotdog. Her little clit pressed to my erection. Clearly she liked the sensation, her thighs trembling slightly.

With my arms up under the pillow I watched her closely. She was stunningly sexy. With her head bent staring at our groins, Sydney moved slightly, a very small hump, exploring the sensation of her pussy pressed against my shaft. She reacted with a gasp. "Holy cow, Dad!"

It made me smile.

Lube made us very, very slippery. Sydney sat upright and reached down to slip her hand under my cock. She humped me again and gasped, "This is amazing," as if surprised.

I was treated to a beautiful experience, a truly special experience that arousal only enhanced. Sydney seemed to forget what she'd set out to do; see me cum. She started with a very slight scrubbing motion, minutely moving her pussy on my shaft. Her clit disappeared on each forward move and reappeared when sliding back. Her strokes slowly became longer, still slow, her plump pussy bulging as it caressed my erection. The sound of her breathing grew harsher. She pressed herself against me harder and shivered slightly, her stomach muscles clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing.

Unbelievably, Sydney's areolae puffed up, darkening slightly with the flush of arousal. Her chest moved as she breathed faster. Her scrubbing movement picked up speed. Completely ignoring me, Sydney carefully fucked my shaft, small gasps sounding, nostrils flaring. She closed her eyes, hips now hunching, her clit disappearing, emerging, disappearing, reddened and inflamed. Her hands rose to grasp her small breasts. She started squeezing them, humping my shaft faster, slender hips moving. A blush emerged on her chest above her breasts and spread to her neck. Her body jerked. Sydney gasped quietly, "Daddy," followed by a long drawn-out, "Oh my Gawd," immediately followed by the sexiest deep grunt, "Ngh," her stomach cramping. She fell into her sudden climax, collapsing onto me, her pussy humping my erection fast, hips churning. Sydney gasped and jerked and softly grunted through an intense climax, a stunningly beautiful climax.

I hugged her and felt the tremors shaking her. I felt her small body heave with each wave of pleasure. I caressed her bare back and hugged my child as she drowned in ecstasy. It was magnificent.

For a minute or two quiet took over. The low sound of the television intruded. Sydney sighed deeply letting out a big breath, her body relaxed. Eventually she struggled to sit up.

Her hair, previously neatly held in a ponytail had partly come loose. She looked disheveled and gorgeous.

"Sorry," Sydney apologized with a chagrined smile. "That wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to make you cum."

"You still can," I said, flexing the erection she was still sitting on.

With a smile Sydney slipped back freeing my cock. She wrapped her hands around it and started stroking, adding a slight twisting motion. It was so good I wondered if she'd seen it done on the Internet. Sydney concentrated, her brows furrowing. When she bit the side of her bottom lip I almost laughed. She was taking her duties very seriously.

"Is this okay?" she asked.

"Yes. It's good," I answered.

"Tell me when you're about to cum," she instructed.

I smiled. "You'll know it. Trust me."

"Kay."

It wasn't the best hand job I'd ever experienced, mostly because I was so distracted with watching Sydney. She was too cute for words. But eventually, despite fatigue, I experienced the tightening in my groin and heaviness in my testicles that preceded an orgasm. I used a bit of imagination, stared at Sydney's naked body and imagined holding her tightly and thrusting into her, raw sex with my little girl, her pussy so tight on me. With a deep sigh of pleasure I came. My erection stiffened, strained, ached. Semen erupted with a burst of bliss, a rope of cum launching onto my stomach. Sydney stopped stroking in surprise. Another wave hit and, just as she resumed milking my shaft with a much firmer grip, cum exploded, a hard, hard pulse, thick white semen splattering down on my chest. Pleasure hit. I came, spurting with each of her enthusiastic strokes, cumming with wonderful relief, stress magically leaving my body. Spurts weakened as my orgasm crested and passed leaving my heart beating hard.

Sydney stopped stroking my wilting erection and studied her hands. She glanced up at me. "Was I okay?" she asked.

"What do you think?" I countered with a smile.

She grinned at me. "It's really messy. Does that much really go inside me every time?"

With great effort, grinning at her cuteness, I went to clean up. Sydney followed me giving me a running commentary about what it looked like when semen spurted out, how strong it came out, how my cock throbbed and pulsed with each spurt, how semen is whitish and thick and . . .

Back in bed, Sydney finally falling silent, we cuddled together, and under the influence of her charm, I admitted to my daughter, "You are so damned cute there are times I want to grab you and screw you blind."

Sydney wiggled against me. "So why don't you? I might like it, too."

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe you should," she countered with a quiet giggle.

"I love you, Sydney." With a kiss on her head, feeling wonderful, I closed my eyes.

"Love you, too, Dad."

Morning arrived with a yawn, a stretch, a feeling of lassitude. Next to me Sydney was sprawled out in a familiar disarray, one leg out over the covers, her bare back exposed. I felt like slapping her ass playfully to wake her up so we could make frisky love. I didn't. I adored seeing her asleep in my bed.

Showered, shaved, and dressed I made coffee and planned the day. We had packing to do. Secretly I looked forward with great anticipation to telling Sydney we were going to New York. I'd been guilty of not taking her traveling despite my having traveled in the Army. So far she'd only been as far as Chicago, not exactly an adventure.

Her arms wrapped around me from behind as I sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee, her face nestling to my neck. The scent of my sleepy girl - a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer and soap and minty toothpaste - wafted over me.

"Morning, Dad," she said, kissing my cheek.

"Morning, Honey. What do you feel like doing today?" I asked, knowing how she'd respond. "Tomorrow's your birthday," I reminded her.

As Sydney opened the refrigerator and studied the contents, debating what to have for breakfast, she answered, "I want to do whatever you want." She'd worn that testament to ugliness; a royal blue nightshirt with atrocious neon lime green swirls. Her bare legs looked nice, though.

After sipping coffee and placing the mug down, I said, "I think I want to pack up and go and stay in New York to celebrate your birthday."

Silence descended. It was complete, as if Sydney was holding her breath while her brain processed. She was frozen in place, bent, refrigerator door open.

"What?" Big, big blue-grey eyes looked at me over her shoulder.

It was fun watching her process.

"New York?" A pause. "Me?" A pause. "My birthday?" Another pause, her voice rising, "Tomorrow?"

"Actually, today. This afternoon."

"Today?" A pause. "This afternoon?"

I nodded and smiled. "Happy birthday."

Sydney actually squealed. The fridge door slammed shut so hard the whole refrigerator shook. She ran at me and flung her arms around my neck almost knocking me out of the chair. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. New York! I'm going to New York!"

She gave me a big kiss on my cheek and took off, breakfast forgotten, dashing out of the kitchen talking the whole time: "Where are the suitcases? How long will we be staying? I'm going to New York! What time do we leave? Do I have time to shower? Hurry up, Dad! You need to pack, too!"

Shaking my head, grinning from ear to ear, I decided surprising my daughter was one of the true pleasures in life. I wondered if it was her or just her youth. Was her contagious enthusiasm a trait that would follow her into adult life?

It certainly followed her all the way to us checking into the hotel in New York, and up the elevator, and into the big room, and included bouncing her butt on one of the two queen beds giving it her approval. With excited awe at the huge marble bathroom she informed me of every feature. The sounds of faucets being tested reached me, water turned on and off, and she let me kow we had hot water, "And cold, too!"

I'd never known someone's happiness and enthusiasm could be tiring, but Sydney's was. Despite it being almost nine-thirty at night she was full of beans and I felt like an old man; a very happy old man.

While I unpacked for us both Sydney announced she was going to take a shower even though she'd taken one this morning because traveling made her feel grimy and besides have you seen this shower, Dad?

An excited exclamation echoed out over the noise of the shower. "Dad, it has three sprays! You've gotta see this!"

Kicking off shoes, still grinning, I tugged socks off and walked around on the carpet curling my toes. It felt good. In the mini bar I discovered a Heineken and, stretched out on top of one bed, turned the television on. No matter what happened for the next three days, Sydney had already made the expense worth it. I also realized the happier my daughter was, the more she talked. She was currently a very, very happy girl.

The shower must have relaxed her. Sydney emerged in a familiar ensemble, pale pink cotton camisole and matching loose cotton pajama shorts; very sexy. She looked tired, her face flushed from the heat of the shower, her hair damp.

"Your turn," she informed me, pulling the covers open and climbing into bed. She grabbed the remote and started changing channels, flipping through them too quickly for me to follow. She looked cute and sexy and beautiful.

I didn't shower. Turning the lights off, I undressed and, in boxers, slipped into bed. Sydney was on her back. I rolled to face her. She lifted her legs and tugged mine up. On my side I cuddled her, her legs over my thigh. She found a sitcom, I Love Lucy, and dropped the remote.

In a darkness illuminated by New York City lights and the flickering blue-white of the television, with my daughter giggling quietly, tiredness overcame me. I fell asleep.

Her foot kicked me as she rolled, waking me up. Damn! Sydney rolled again and muttered something about homework and cheddar cheese, her out-flung arm falling on me. I didn't even try. I didn't hesitate for one minute. Rolling out of bed I moved to the other and fell asleep.

A shake of my shoulder woke me.

"What happened, Dad?"

Morning light was weak. Sydney sat on the edge of the bed looking at me, her hair a lovely mess. I counted the five freckles on the bridge of her nose. Satisfied they were all still there, I smiled. "Morning, Sweetheart."

"Morning. Why are you in this bed?"

"Because you didn't get to cum last night."

A moment of confusion was followed by a small blush. A grin emerged. "Your fault. You fell asleep." She waited, staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

She pouted. It was cute. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I pretended to think. "Oh! Right. Room service. What do you want for breakfast?" I asked reaching for the menu.

"Daaaaad! It's my birthday! How could you forget?" The pout grew, lips plump, eyebrows narrowing. She was a great actor.

Smiling, I reached out and wrapped her in a hug, drawing her to me. I kissed the cheek she offered me. "Look at me. I have a teenage daughter," I exclaimed.

Sydney smiled. "I am!"

"Happy birthday, Honey," I whispered before kissing her gently, lips brushing.

We snuggled and kissed. Some randy thoughts emerged. I groped a small bum in loose pale pink cotton pajama shorts. Sydney giggled and pulled away from me just as my hand was investigating how loose the leg openings really were.

"Did you say room service?" she asked with enthusiasm.

Dressed and fed, we spent the morning shopping. I figured shopping was the best possible present for a newly minted teenager, so sightseeing was relegated to tomorrow. It was the right decision as the New York sky was covered by low grey clouds that occasionally spit light summer rain at us, never heavy but enough to be annoying.

I was happy to follow Sydney's lead in and out of clothes shops acting as her porter carrying bags and her personal financial banker. Some stores were canvassed and we left without a purchase, some she left with one or two items added to her collection. Her joy at each purchase was reward enough. But when I suggested Victoria's Secret she laughed at me, her eyes twinkled knowingly, and she said, "Okay, let's." I think she recognized my selfish motivation for suggesting it.

It was the highlight of the shopping trip. Sydney, still ultra conservative in her behavior towards me in public, found ways of teasing me. It was subtle and cute and arousing. She'd wander off a few feet, browse sexy panties, pick one up, hold it up for inspection, slip her hand inside to feel the material and, without looking at me, make a suggestive comment under her breath - "almost see-through," "nice lace," "so soft" - and flash an impish grin before moving on. I appreciated every pair, too, picturing my little girl wearing them. I loved panties and her suggestive comments resulted in me holding shopping bags in front of me to protect my modesty.

Somehow Sydney managed to conceal most of the things she picked by buying a bunch of panties and bras and other odd packages. I should have been suspicious when the young girl at the cash counter smiled broadly. The bill was jaw dropping.

We headed back to the hotel for lunch. I'd booked Sydney in for a haircut in the afternoon so she'd feel pretty for her birthday dinner, another surprise.

She actually rushed me through a Club Sandwich and fries in the hotel restaurant, eager to go up to the room and inspect her new purchases. She was sparkling and bright and almost vibrating with excitement, talking nonstop.

I think females regard clothing as sacred, individual items to be worshiped by fawning over them. Sometimes they regard clothes as collector's items; ownership more important than use or pragmatism or comfort. We guys look at jeans and as long as they're blue we're happy. Shirts and suits and other items are judged on whether they'll fit and will some female find them sexy enough to want to tumble into bed for unrestrained sex simply by seeing us wearing them.

I parked my butt in an armchair by the rain-streaked window and observed.

With respectful awe Sydney unwrapped each item. There was a ritual to be followed. First the item was held up and away from the body on extended arms so it could be inspected and appreciated and checked for flaws. Next the item was brought into her body and held against her to check for size. A mirror was then used to admire how it looked draped in front of her before the blouse, skirt, dress, slacks, or T-shirt was placed carefully on the bedspread, attention turning to the next package.

This instinctive religious-like ritual was accompanied by monastic chanting, "Isn't this nice?" "Don't you love the color?" "The material is so soft," "This will go perfectly with my blue skirt."

I enjoyed the show. But then it got much, much better.

All her new clothes were carefully laid out on the bed. Sydney finally turned to the best bag of all, the Victoria's Secret one, and one by one extracted sexy little things of wondrous colors and textures and shapes. Bras and panties and other mysterious flat packages were withdrawn from the bag almost like a magician - abracadabra, ta-da!

It created some discomfort which made me shift in the armchair to find a more comfortable position. Sydney seemed oblivious of my appreciation or condition. She was brainwashed by her acquisitions.

Without warning, the ceremony moved into the erotic. Sydney, staring at the cornucopia of fashion on the bed, tugged her T-shirt off over her head to reveal a sweet, sexy, plain white cotton bra. A couple of very lucky triangles coddled petite breasts. Reaching behind her in a move no male would be capable of without dislocating shoulders, she unhooked the bra and shrugged it off, perky little boobs with large pale pink areolae exposed. Unconsciously she scratched underneath each delectable breast before reaching for one of the many tops she'd acquired.

The fashion show was very arousing. Small, perfectly formed adolescent breasts appeared and disappeared, jiggling beautifully as my daughter tried on every top. She spoke to herself throughout the event in a low voice, "Yup, with the green pants," "Just wait till Karen sees this."

Not once did my little girl ask my opinion. It was almost as if she'd forgotten the love of her life was in the same room.

The show became even more erotic when, naked from the waist up, Sydney shoved her jeans down and kicked them off revealing rather sexy panties. They were plain white and looked like tight shorts made entirely of lace except for the gusset. Through the lace I could see a sexy bum crack that made my partial erection strengthen into a full one. I shifted some more in the armchair.

Skirts and dresses were tried on and talked to, the clothes told what their role was, what social function they should expect, and then lavished with verbal love and folded carefully before being returned to the bed.

I'd noticed a pattern despite my distraction. Sydney had started at the top with outerwear. She'd progressed to the middle and bottom. Was an innerwear phase next? A panty and bra show?

Anticipation was exciting and, with breath held, my daughter reached for the waist of her panties, bent and shoved them down. She straightened. I gasped quietly. Sydney's pubes had emerged. It was obvious. The slightest dusting of silky black pubic hairs decorated her mons, and when combined with her pert little breasts, those manifestations of maturity contrasted so sharply with her still shapeless young body the effect was stunning.

Raw desire hit me. Not lovey-dovey sexy attraction, but the more base type. I wanted her desperately. I couldn't get over how damned sexy she was. And then she drove my blood pressure sky high.

Turning and reaching over the bed, her sexy tush rounded and a lush little pussy oozed out from behind between her thighs, her cleft sprinkled with small silky pubes, labia plump and pressed tightly together. She straightened with a pair of white cotton panties in her hand. The contrast shocked me. The panties had light yellow elastic at the legs and waist. On the front was a canary yellow Tweety Bird! There was nothing adult about them. They were little girl panties that Sydney proceeded to wiggle into. Damn!

She tugged them up tight, snugging them into her pussy, a camel toe forming and I lost it.

Standing suddenly, muttering something even I didn't understand, an erection tight in my pants, I strode over and grabbed the minx from behind, groping two delightful, firm breasts before lifting her and tossing her onto the other bed. She laughed loudly and flopped down, rolling onto her back.

Undressing with urgent desperation, I ogled Sydney; her sexy, perky breasts; those remarkable puffy areolae; her young body; her loose childish panties; the way Tweety Bird looked chubby from the bulge of her pussy mound underneath; her long bare legs; her big, big grin . . .

Hold up! That grin! Those twinkling eyes!

"Did you . . .?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, grinning at me.

"That whole show?"

"Uh-huh."

My pants hit the floor. "I'm seriously impressed," I told my teasing daughter. "And horny."

Sydney smiled with pride. "You're pretty easy, Dad."

Boxers hit the floor, my erection straining up, jutting out, thick and heavily influencing my desires. Sydney reached for those cute Tweety Bird panties. "No. Don't. I want to take them off," I told her. "By the way, where did you get them? Not at Victoria's Secret."

"I bought them at Target. Tweety Bird's cute, don't you think?" With a grin, my daughter pointed. "You're really horny." A quick giggle and she added, "Wanna jump my bones?"

She burst into laughter when my erection answered, bobbing up and down.

Confession number fifteen - I accepted that young girls aroused me more than mature women by a huge margin. The combination of sweet and sexy and petite was irresistible.

I absolutely wanted to jump her bones. I wanted to screw my daughter's brains out. Birthday girl or not, her sexy seduction and sweet giggles, her perky little boobs and chaste girlish panties were driving me nuts. And then I remembered how tight her pussy was and control slipped away.

Crawling onto the bed, Sydney's blue-grey eyes twinkling with excitement, those five freckles on the bridge of her nose giving her a sexy, impish look, I reached for soft, white cotton, and Tweety Bird panties were yanked.

Sydney burst into laughter, her bum rising off the bed with the force of my tug, panties slipping down. In a stunningly erotic move, she covered her pussy with both hands and closed her legs. Laughter made her eyes glisten with pleasure when I growled at her, "Now you're thirteen I can go to town and I'm gonna."

My beautiful daughter roared with bright laughter and fought me when I tried to pry her hands away from her sexy little pussy. I frowned at her and tried a bribe. "Let me at it and I'll kiss it," I offered.

She relaxed suddenly. "Kay!"

Removing her hands, she spread her knees for me. God almighty her pussy was gorgeous. In broad daylight I could finally appreciate just how beautiful and arousing it was. The sprinkling of almost black individual pubic hairs did no more than emphasize the remarkable shape of a stunning little vulva. It drove home how young she was, still so immature.

My erection was thick and heavy, arousal a harsh master. Sydney's cleft was short and merged with the swell of her buttocks below, her slit closed. Bending, I kissed her ripe mons first, pressing my mouth into the lush mound. I kissed her slit before opening my mouth to take as much of it as I could, adding suction. A rush of moisture hit my tongue; sweet, musky arousal. I probed into her cleft and touched the source of her moisture, the entrance to her vagina. A quick taste and I turned my attention to her little clit. I was horny and desperate and in a hurry. I wanted to fuck, rut, take her.

Concentrating on her clit, teasing, caressing, rubbing and sucking it, Sydney moaned and curled her pussy up against my lips. Slipping hands under her I cupped each gorgeous buttock. They flexed beautifully as she started fucking my mouth. Sucking her harder, tongue strumming her clit, Sydney moaned, "Daddy," and humped faster. Her bum clenched, pussy pressing, breath panting. I eased my thumb into her tight vagina and she surged up.

The sound of her climax started, such sweet music. "Oh m'God." A sweet soft deep grunt sounded and Sydney fell of the cliff, thighs snapping together against my head, scrubbing her pussy against my mouth, grunting her ecstasy, her body heaving. Erection now aching I rode her climax until with a final arching body contraction she collapsed.

Damn I was horny! My turn now.

It was too easy to move her like a rag doll. Turning her over, I reached underneath and pulled her onto her hands and knees, her body still a bit weak. Her glistening pussy emerged between sexy thighs, sweet buttocks rounding into perfection. Knees together her pussy seemed to squeeze out from behind. I caressed her bubbly buttocks. They spread and closed, spread and closed, each time revealing her small anus and the moist red interior of her slit. My cock looked so large, the crown flared, shaft so thick compared to the smallness of her cleft.

It excited me when the precum glistening tip kissed her slit, the size difference stunningly arousing. How had she taken me inside before? It seemed impossible.

Prying her labia apart with my thumbs, her tiny entrance appeared, moist, dark. My cock bobbed as it pulsed with need. Edging closer, the tip nestled into her cleft, her labia bulging slightly. Fuck! Pressing, her labia stretched and slowly enveloped my crown, silky and warm. Tightness pressed to the tip. I pushed making no progress, Sydney too tight. Very exciting. I pressed harder. I knew she could take me yet it seemed impossible, her entrance resisting, her body too slender, too young, too immature. Gripping her narrow hips, cock swelling, precum leaking, I pressed hard and pulled her body back at me. It worked. My God it worked.

In a mind-bending rush of excitement Sydney's pussy yielded, her plump labia bulging as they were shoved apart. My crown squeezed in to the tightest, sexiest pussy ever. Sydney moaned and pushed back at me. Raw desire swamped me. With a couple of quick thrusts and withdrawals, pulling my little girl's body into my groin, I penetrated her completely, suddenly, so suddenly Sydney let out an, "Oof."

Her sweet little buttocks pressed to my groin. My erection buried in her, gripped tightly, moist, warm, the tip pressing against her end. I swelled making her feel tighter. Raw need punished me.

Leaning over her back, I told her how desperately I wanted to take her, hard and fast and selfish, and asked if I could. Sydney, her head drooping, nodded.

Kneeling behind her, gripping her narrow waist, I started by withdrawing slowly, a teasing pace, her vagina inverting slightly as it tried to prevent me from leaving - so tight. I thrust, her amazing pussy engulfing my thick erection, little cleft stretched around my glistening shaft. I did it again and it was easier, Sydney wetter, more slippery, molten velvet caressing my cock. Withdrawing, I watched my shaft emerge, an endless withdrawal, my erection long and thick. How could she take it all?

As the rim of my crown oozed out of her I thrust in, tugging her body back at me and I buried myself in her, her buttocks slapping into me. I did it again, long stroke, a rush of pleasure hitting me, again, erection straining, heart racing. Suddenly I passed the point of restraint. The way Sydney's pussy gripped me so tightly, the depth I was penetrating her young body, the incredible sensations hitting me all combined to drive me over the edge. I started fucking her hard, long strokes, thrusting and withdrawing, moving her small body in counterpoint to my strokes, fucking her deeply, thrusting hard. Her sweet buttocks jiggled as they slapped against me, my erection fully buried, exposed, fully buried, molten velvet gripping me tightly.

I fucked my darling hard, deep, so damned good. And then Sydney shocked me. She started grunting softly with each hard thrust and actually started shoving back at me. We were fucking each other hard, faster, faster, desperate desire for release building. My erection felt rigid and huge and thick, the sight of fucking my little girl thrilling me. And as we thrust at each other I hit my limit.

"Jesus Christ," I gasped. My cock swelled to the point of pain, an ache emerging deep in my groin. Pressure built. The first release, that first pulse of semen hurt. It hurt as I thrust and sealed myself inside her. Pain. Cum exploded. "Oh God! Oh God!" With another hard, hard thrust cum exploded in an endless, painful eruption. Suddenly the dam broke. Fucking her fast I came, each thrust spurting, semen deposited, wetness flooding her, her pussy becoming very, very slippery. I thrust and came inside her filling her, cumming hard. Dizziness rushed in, heart racing. Spurts weakened and still I thrust, pleading for more, begging it not to end, ecstasy washing over me. Sydney collapsed forward. I followed her down covering her small body, thrusting against her bottom even though there was nothing left inside me. And finally, finally my orgasm released me, my cramping body set free.

It could have been a couple of minutes or a quarter of an hour before I stirred. Sydney was lost underneath me, pressed to the bed. My erection faded away, drained and satiated. My heart slowed. Her beautiful ass felt good against me.

I rolled off her when her pussy expelled me. Reaching out I drew her into me. Like a sleepy kitten Sydney snuggled.

As luck would have it air conditioning eventually chilled our naked bodies and we both shivered. I suggested a shower and Sydney agreed with a soft, "Kay."

I loved the way she cupped her hand on her pussy while dashing to the bathroom, her father's semen leaking rather profusely. In the shower she was soft and loving and full of sighs and sweet adoring eyes. But as the shower revived her, sparkles returned to her eyes. Her movements grew more energetic and, when I explained I'd booked her for a haircut at a famous salon, Garren New York, Sydney's excitement built.

I told her we were going to dinner at The View, the only revolving rooftop restaurant in New York City. Sydney suddenly found boundless energy, rinsing and grabbing a towel to dry. She told me what dress she was going to wear and "Have you felt how thick these towels are?" and maybe she'd get her hair layered, "What do you think?" and what time was the hair appointment and how far away was the restaurant and what time were we eating and "Isn't this exciting?" and . . .

I lost the rest when she dashed out of the bathroom. Clearly my daughter was happy. I stayed in the shower and played with three nozzles - very interesting.

The taxi cab dropped us off at 781 5th Avenue on the south east corner of Central Park. Sydney was whisked off by staff and I was invited to sit in the comfortable waiting area and, "Would you like an espresso or cappuccino while you wait?"

I declined and, since the skies had cleared, told them I'd be back to pick up my daughter in half an hour. They laughed at my optimism and suggested two hours might be more appropriate.

Strolling along the edge of Central Park, greenery on one side and beeping horns and the rush of traffic on the other, New York hustling and bustling around me, I realized I was intensely happy, perhaps happier than I'd ever been.

Relaxed, without the confusing muddle of extreme arousal, my body calm after experiencing a beautiful orgasm, I recognized just how much adoration I had for my daughter. She was more attractive to me than anyone I'd met, and not just sexually. In fact, my attraction to her, to her personality, was stronger than the sexual attraction. I found joy in her that had never been part of my makeup. Joy was something I'd grown up never experiencing.

Sydney was a complex girl. She had a diamond-like personality, full of interesting facets that sparked with life when exposed. I wondered how she'd change as she matured and wondered if I'd be there to see.

Sun warmed my face when I paused between trees and inhaled deeply. New York had a distinctive smell. Car exhaust mixed with the scent of coffee and rotting garbage, all appearing and disappearing with each waft of fresh air. Noise surrounded me making the city vibrant with life.

I stopped at a street cart and bought a coffee, smiling when I tasted it. Only in New York would street vendors have gourmet coffee. A park bench let me relax in the sun, my face turned up.

Was I taking advantage of Sydney? Could she really know what was best for her at such a young age? Probably not. But, with a smile, I accepted she had an opinion on what was best for her and that opinion was very forceful. That was one of the things I loved about her.

Confession number sixteen - I really was a selfish bastard. My relationship with Sydney may have been unhealthy and illegal and immoral, but I knew, deep in my heart, I'd give it up for no one. I would fight tooth and nail to hold onto her for as long as I could.

By the time I returned to the Garren New York salon it was nearing five-thirty. I waited another twenty minutes proving the salon's sense of timing was as accurate as my daughter's - hopelessly optimistic.

But my God.

Sydney emerged, her chestnut hair flowing free, layered to show off shades of brown I'd never noticed. A long side-swept fringe partially covered her forehead, falling over the side of her eyes which she pushed away with a finger. Layers of glowing silken hair cascaded down, the front shorter, the back longer, her hair thick and luxurious. Five freckles on her nose gave her a light-hearted look that was also intensely beautiful.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

I grunted, unable to form words. Sydney laughed brightly. She then imitated me.

"Was that . . ." she mimicked my grunt except cuter, ". . . a good sign?"

"Uh, yeah. Jeez, Sydney. You look stunning."

I was too stunned by how beautiful she was to be stunned senseless by the bill. A cab whisked us back to the hotel, the Marriott Marquis on Broadway, and Sydney excitedly told me that Courtney Love and Oprah and Madonna and even Nicole Kidman had their hair styled at Garren. I was more impressed when she told me, "Audrey Hepburn used to go there, too. Who was she?"

Dinner reservations were for seven-thirty. Sydney wanted to know how long it would take to get to the restaurant so she could be ready in time. I told her, "About three minutes."

Her questioning expression faded when I explained that The View was in the hotel, up on the 47th and 48th floors. She busied herself putting her new clothes away while I sipped another Heineken and watched TV, propped up against the bed's headboard. Eventually Sydney finished and came and cuddled. She fell asleep, her day too exciting so far. Peace permeated me.

Just after seven I woke her up. When I told her the time she jumped up and, uttering, "Oh m'God," several times, rushed around trying to get ready. It's lucky she rushed. She only just made it. Don't ask why. It's a female thing.

Sydney looked sweet and cute and sexy all at the same time. She'd put on a deep emerald green velvet dress that ended mid thigh. Her hair fell loose and flowed as she moved. Black pantyhose and black leather short-heeled shoes finished the outfit. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful.

I deliberately messed up the second bed before we left in case the hotel had a bed turndown service. Sydney noticed and smiled shyly.

A silent elevator whisked us up. A soft ding announced our arrival and the doors opened to reveal white tablecloths, silverware, candles, soft music, and a breathtaking view of New York City. Sydney was fussed over (I'd taken the opportunity to let the restaurant know it was her thirteenth birthday) and we were seated. My daughter glowed.

Her eyes never stopped moving, constantly watching as the restaurant turned exposing differing views of a beautiful city. The sun slipped away outlining buildings with deep shadows and a golden glow. Building lights slowly winked on. Times Square came alive. The Empire State Building made an appearance. And through dinner my vivacious daughter was for once subdued, awed by the restaurant, the views, excellent food, and the friendly staff who showered her with compliments and attention and eventually a small chocolate torte with a candle in it for desert.

Sydney glowed with that special glow girls get when they're appreciated and feel pretty and desired and loved. It made my heart ache.

She was still subdued when we returned to our room at ten-forty. It had been an exhausting day for her; shopping, sex, hairdresser, dinner. She drooped despite the smiles and hugs, and whispered, "Thank you, Dad," with feeling.

I was tired, too. But when Sydney unzipped her dress and let it slip to the floor, bending to pick it up and hang it, I became speechless. It wasn't the lacy green bra that cupped her perky little breasts. It wasn't the lacy matching bikini type panties that hugged her pussy tightly, either.

No. It was the black stuff. My thirteen-year-old girl wasn't wearing pantyhose. She wore a small black lace garter belt holding up thigh-high stocking! The way those garter straps were placed emphasized the delicate shape of adolescence; narrow hips, the sensual swell of a beautiful bottom, and slender tapered thighs. It was outrageously sexy.

Sydney noticed my gawking. She smiled softly. "Do you like it?" she asked.

"Very, very much," I assured her. I wasn't really conscious of getting undressed or of my erection, my attention riveted on her.

While I slipped into bed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard, Sydney casually reached behind her to unhook her bra, she shrugged the shoulder straps off and dropped the bra on the other bed. She was aware of my acute attention. It showed in a soft smile of pride with a hint of shy embarrassment for being so blatantly seductive. I loved it.

She eased her lacy green panties down exposing her pussy and bum, bending to collect them and drop them on the bed. Turning to face me, she unhooked her stocking and removed them slowly. The black garter belt was unhooked and dropped and I was erect. She was so damned sweet and sexy.

Sydney surprised me by pulling the covers back as she got into bed exposing my erection. My arms welcomed her when she settled astride my lap, knees to each side.

"Thanks for my birthday, Dad," she said softy, her lips touching mine.

Her scent wafted over me, all Sydney with a hint of perfume. I kissed her gently, lips pressing, soft, her mouth small and sensual. My hands caressed her sides moving higher. With a mental sigh I once again cupped two perfect little breasts, firm, their shape so amazing. Our kiss deepened, lips pressing when I rubbed her nipples slowly. Sydney's eyes closed. She tilted her head a bit more and almost purred. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue brushed my lips with an invitation.

Below, my erection throbbed and stiffened. Sydney moved closer to me, her pussy pressing against the base of my shaft. The headboard was hard against my shoulder blades when the pillow slipped. I ignored it. Our kiss slowly grew more intense, mouths opening, murmurs, tongues probing and retreating, touching, wrestling. Nothing could compare to kissing Sydney, the excitement and arousal she caused was disorienting in its intensity.

My heart woke up. Blood flowed faster. Arousal, warm and welcome, soft and loving, washed through me. I gently played with my daughter's pert breasts and teased her nipples into excited stiffness.

Sydney moaned softly in response. One of her hands left my neck and slipped down between us to rub the wet tip of my erection against her tummy. She gently grasped the shaft and squeezed it as if testing its thickness, its rigidity, measuring my attraction to her, her appeal. Satisfied, she rose on her knees and guided the tip down across her stomach, over the pad of her mons, through her sexy cleft, along her plump labia and further back until the tip touched slight dampness.

Her tongue wrestled with mine, her eyes closed. She moaned into my mouth as, with her hand holding my erection firmly, she moved the tip from side to side, slowly pushing her labia aside to worm my crown into her slit. I reached down to grip each small buttock, my fingertips finding her pussy. Pulling gently I opened her cleft and the tip of my erection nestled to her entrance.

Our kiss broke with Sydney sighing. Her forehead dropped to my shoulder, legs trembling. Slowly my little girl impaled herself on me. A warm moist silken glove wrapped around my crown and clenched, so exquisitely tight. She eased up and down, up and down, each move forcing my erection to penetrate her little pussy deeper and deeper until, with a shudder, I was ensconced in her, buried completely. The tip nudged against her cervix, her labia pressed to my groin. Sydney stopped with a sigh of pleasure.

"This is nice, Daddy," she whispered.

"Yes it is, Sweetheart," I agreed, my erection throbbing gently, held in a heavenly grip, so tight.

"Can we sleep like this all night?" she asked, her minty breath warm on my shoulder, arms hugging my neck.

"No."

"Why not? Don't you want to?"

With a smile I answered. "It's nothing to do with what I want, Honey. I'd love to. But it feels much too good. I'd never last." My erection flexed inside her.

"I felt that," she murmured and squeezed her pussy.

"I felt that," I said.

She squeezed again. I flexed. She squeezed. I flexed, erection rigid and swelling. Her small buttocks in my hands moved slightly, very, very slightly, more like a twitch of her hips. It rubbed my crown deep inside her. It rubbed her cervix against the tip. My erection pulsed.

The room was silent except for our breathing. Sydney repeated her very slight twitch. I pulsed and swelled in response. She sighed and repeated the move, and then again, and again, and slowly, with exquisite beauty we started making love. Leaning back against the headboard, Sydney kneeling astride me, my erection buried inside her, we moved gently. She moved her pussy back and forth in small, gentle movements that tickled the tip of my erection and massaged its length with a silken grip, her pussy so exceptionally snug.

"I love this, Daddy," she whispered.

"I love it, too," I replied.

My little girl moaned and hugged my neck tighter. Her bottom moved back and forth in slow short movements bringing exquisite pleasure to me. I cupped her bottom with one hand, my other gently holding her slender back. She moved slowly, humping back and forth, her movements gaining strength.

Breathing harder, Sydney moaned and trembled against me, her movements becoming jerky as if her clit was being stimulated. My erection ached. The deep, deep stimulation of her cervix was a new experience and I knew when I came my semen would be spurting directly into her womb. That thought thrilled me, my little girl full of my semen. It brought a rush of arousal, my erection swelling, aching, throbbing, desire burning bright in me.

Sydney trembled. She murmured, humping my erection slowly, back and forth, back and forth, her movements increasingly twitchy, her slender body shaking. My erection strained. I couldn't believe I was almost ready to cum without having thrust into her once. The slimmest chance of me holding my orgasm at bay vanished when my thirteen-year-old suddenly shook in my arms.

"I'm cumming, Daddy," she whispered so softly.

And she did. I felt it. Her body shook. Her pussy pulsed with each wave of her climax, her hips twitching. She pressed herself down on my erection firmly and let out a quiet grunt of pleasure, her buttocks clenching. It was beautiful, too beautiful.

I let go and my orgasm wash in. It didn't slam into me. It arrived on the crest of a wave of adoration and love. With a burst of pure bliss, I came, spurting, the tip of my straining erection sealed to my daughter's cervix, semen erupting in a beautiful, wonderful pulse. Sydney felt me cum. She whimpered, trembled in my arms, and her pussy clenched, milking me. Another utterly beautiful, blissful wave washed over me as I spurted again, a long, long exquisite release flooding my little girl's pussy. Sydney grunted quietly and humped my pulsing erection. I came deeply, spurting, love washing through me with each glorious throb of ecstasy, each spurt of semen deep into my daughter's young body. Our orgasms felt endless and perfect, no aching, no straining, no agony, just pure bliss.

It peaked and faded away leaving residual pulses and small tremors shaking my daughter's body. We grew still, her breath warm on my shoulder. Sydney let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

"That was so good, Daddy," she whispered.

"Perfect," I whispered stroking her bare back.

With exceptional climaxes - and they are rare - comes post-orgasmic bliss. It's a peace that's unlike any other, an inner core that melts, a satiated feeling as though all worries have been drained from your body. When you love your partner the feelings are more intense, the love stronger, and joy arrives as a warm flush. Anything is possible, nothing impossible, everything achievable. That's how I felt.

Holding my little girl gently, still buried inside her, held in her warm snug grip, I eased us down and rolled. Sydney complained with a groan when my erection slipped from her, and cuddled closer as if to climb inside me. She smelled different, sweet but now with an aroma of sexy.

Silence filled the room.

I caressed her hair and whispered, "I love you, Sydney."

She responded with a cute body wiggle. "Love you, too, Daddy."

Eyes closed, I smiled. I was at peace. I wondered how long I'd be graced with my daughter's beautiful love. I hoped forever.