Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Crystal - Part One - A Man, a Girl, and a Pool

   I suppose I should begin this tale when things started to change.  The
first memory I have of those days was me standing in the patio doorway of
our home.  It was a nice home.  Nothing fancy, but for being outside
Atlanta, it had a lot of room.  I had managed to wheedle the property out
of a farmer whom my parents knew needed a large sum of cash all at once. 
It was most of an acre and sat across the access road from a largish
subdivision.  It also sat atop a small hill.

   When I stood at my front door, I felt like a lord overlooking the
peasants below.  That thought always gave me a chuckle.  It had been a
wooded lot.  With much sweat, and many bruises, and a couple of sticks of
dynamite, I had managed to clear room for the house.  The whole property
sloped downhill from the split-level single story Jennifer and I had built.
The front lawn sloped down to the road, and the opposing row of little
crammed together houses.  The back of the property sloped down to the trees
I had left in place.  It was our quiet haven in a loud world.

   I had been missing Jennifer much of late.  She had died in a car
accident four years before.  That had been the lowest point in my life.  I
always missed her; in recent days, I had been missing her more.  I was
trying to raise a young lady, and I needed her help.  For a long while,
Crystal was our daughter and our lives.

   Then Crystal had been my life since Jennifer's death.  I got a
telecommuting job and stayed home to make sure she always had access to a
parent.  It did not pay as much, but since Jennifer and I had built the
home with cash, I was not in debt.  Crystal was growing up like a hothouse
orchid.  It seemed every time I looked at her, she was older, taller, and
more, well, more a woman.

   I was wondering at that now.  She was four foot seven, as the notches by
the patio door attested to.  She weighed just less than one hundred pounds,
and every ounce of it bone or muscle.  My daughter was strong for such a
small thing, and I always found myself amazed at her displays of might.

   Crystal had her mother's straight silken brown hair.  She also had her
mother's stunning green eyes.  She had my olive skin tone and, much to my
chagrin, my nose.  If they could say that any feature was anything but
beautiful, it was her rounded nose.  Crystal had just had her twelfth
birthday, and it was now the beginning of summer.

   Seven months ago, I had shepherded her through her first period.  Of
course, she had started while at school.  I received a phone call from the
office staff telling me she had an `accident' and would like to come home
for the day.  The nature of the problem was unclear, but she was healthy
and safe, but would need parental assistance.

   I broke a few speeding and stop sign laws getting to the school in the
attempt to save my angel from `utter mortification.' I managed to escort
her out under cover of other kids being in class and got her to the car. 
On the way, home I stopped at Wal Mart and went inside to get her
necessaries.

   Inside, I pidgin holed a youngish female employee and asked for her
assistance on this matter of life and death.  She grilled me about such
charming issues as build, gap, flow, thickness, and clothes.  Then asked
how wide my daughters groin was.  The sales woman pointed me to a shelf now
narrowed down to about fifty products.  I had to choose from pad or tampon,
wings or no wings, maxi or mini, light or heavy, and several other criteria
on which I would rather not dwell.

   After spending fifteen minutes thinking way harder than was comfortable
about my daughter's privates and preferences, I emerged victorious, with a
box of standard Stay-Free mini pads.  So, off to the house we went, making
sure to park inside the garage to reduce the terminal emotional trauma from
the neighbors seeing her in such a state.  I stood outside the bathroom
door with the box in my hand, trying to guide her through the procedure as
delineated on the box in little drawings.

   In desperation, I grabbed the phone and dialed Crystal's Aunt April. 
April had me give Crystal the phone and, with expert patience, guided her
though the rest of the process without incident.  My sister still gives me
grief about that frantic phone call.

   To list just her physical attributes would be to sell her far short of
the mark.  My Crystal would have been amazing even if wheelchair-bound. 
She had a sharp wit, and an analytical outlook on the world.  Everything
she saw she took with a grain of salt.  Watching her watch commercials
meant for young women her age, and to observe her dissect why that
particular product or service `wasn't worth crap' was fun.

   It made me proud to know Crystal would be no man's fool.  She was
bright, but of course, a parent would say that, but I have good reason.  By
twelve, she had consumed and could hold quite animated discourse on classic
works, including Mein Kampf, The Art of War, and Cosmos.  She also read
dozens of books on hard science and even psychology.  She was an insatiable
reader, going through books at a rate that kept the local library's `books
on loan' program busy most of the year.

   Crystal was not, however, a straight `A' student, but she could have
been.  She participated in few extracurricular activities, though she
should have taken up competitive swimming, my own opinion.  This brings us
back to me standing at the patio door.

   Crystal was just climbing up the steep stairs onto our aboveground
pool's little deck.  I noted with an impersonal eye that she needed a new
swimsuit.  The one she was wearing was at least two years old, and was
beginning to look a bit worn.  It was also very inadequate to cover her
blooming `assets.' At least three inches of butt-crack was to be seen
emerging from the top of the bottoms as she ascended the stairs.

   As funny as that was, I was not following her to check out her butt.  I
was following her to watch her swim a bit.  Swimming was Crystal's favorite
pastime other than, perhaps, reading.  She got to the deck and, dropping
her towel on the deck chair, jumped and slipped into the water without a
splash.  A second later, she emerged from the water at the far side of the
pool, then plunged back in, never pausing.

   I had reached the stairs to the deck and climbed up.  Looking down, I
saw her bulleting through the water at a speed that never failed to impress
me.  For a long time, I thought that she used momentum from the edge of our
small pool to improve her speed.  However, I had taken her to the college
and let her swim at their Olympic-sized pool a few times.

   To challenge her, I had her start from a dead stop in the middle of the
pool, denying her a launch pad.  While it took her an extra moment to build
up speed, she still swam just as fast, managing to pass the college
competition swimmers in the water practicing.  When I, at last, got a look
at her on a long straight run, I noted that she did not use her hands much.
When she did it was just to steer herself.  Her feet and even her whole
body was acting as a flexible surface that the water moved over as she
swam, like a wing, I suppose.

   Crystal resurfaced after making two full circuits of the pool.  She
grinned up at me from the water.  The swim had not even winded her.  She
was treading water with just her feet now.  The pool went two feet into the
ground, making it six feet deep and far over her head.

   "Are you going to swim with me today?" she asked with a little hope in
her eyes.  It was Friday and I had finished my allotted tasks from work
ahead of schedule.

   I looked down at her.  Crystal was like a bundle of live wires.  My
daughter had more energy than was even proper.  She would swim like this
for an hour or so.  Then, she would come inside and do something else, like
play that rigorous and trying `Dance Dance Revolution' on our livingroom TV
for another half hour before even beginning to be tired.

   "I dunno, darling, I don't feel like being smoked on the water today," I
said.

   Most kids her age would have missed the reference, but she was my
daughter, and she knew her rock history.  She adopted a let down expression
for a fleeting moment, and then brightened.  Maintaining her place in the
water with just her feet and legs, she mimed an air guitar.  "Duh, duh,
duh, dah, dah, dah, dun, dun, dun." Her voice produced a reasonable
facsimile of a base guitar.

   I laughed, then promised I would go swimming with her tomorrow.  She
nodded, and seemed to be satisfied.

   Her head slipped beneath the water and she rocketed toward my side of
the pool.  This was our `signature' trick.  She came flying out of the
water right in front of me, her entire body clearing the surface up to her
knees.  Crystal curled her legs under herself, and I grabbed one of her
outstretched arms.  I tugged her onto the relative safety of the deck
before she could fall back into the water.

   In the Olympic pool, she could build up enough speed to launch herself
out of the water and land on the walkway around the pool.  It was
impressive, but drenching wet for anyone near her landing zone.

   A geyser of water came up with her, drenching me from head to toe.  I
looked down.  My shirt was a sodden mess.  I was pulling it away from my
body and starting to wring it out when I noticed that my light-blue nylon
shorts were now transparent.  I was `commando' that day.  I looked up,
hoping my little girl was looking at my face, and preparing to laugh.  No
such luck, she had locked eyes on my now-visible manhood.  I pulled my
shirt down, hoping to minimize the exposure.  She blinked then looked up at
me, grinning.

   "Sorry," she giggled, her eyes sparkling.

   The immediate shaking of her head proved this, causing her long hair to
spin into a disk, and soaking me further.  Having completed that particular
action, she hugged me.  That was what she had come up for, and then before
I could grab her back, she was leaping from the deck and back into the
water.  With animal grace, she vaulted backward and into the water with the
tiniest of splashes.

   "If you want to hug me, you have to be in the water," she said when she
resurfaced.

   I shook my head.  "I'll get my hug later," I said.  "We'll have dinner
in a couple of hours."

   I turned to head into the house.  As I shut the patio door, a jet of
water she had fired from her mouth hit its little glass panes.  I looked at
her head, bobbing at the near corner of the pool, still a good twenty feet
away.

   "How the hell does she do that?" I asked myself, and shook my head some
more.

   My sodden state left a trail across the hardwood floor of the living
room then up the stairs to the upper level.  This was where our bedrooms,
the bathroom, and my office were.  My office was the first door on the
right, and I went into it.

   My computer was chirping a happy little tune, informing me that I had
received some email.  I sat and clicked it open.  It was a missive from our
company's sysop, and my, personal, best friend, Marcus.  He was letting me
know that he was going to be sending me a new chunk of `Superspider.'

   `Superspider' was a piece of smart software.  It would go into the
Internet, and search many porn web sites.  Off those sites, it would look
for movie clips.  Those, it would match up, by imbedded coding, the actual
sequence of the segments.  When it was finished looking, it would combine
all the ten second samples into viewable movies.  It would store any
snippets it got, and would display a list of any movies that managed to go
beyond a set minimum time.  Mine was set at three minutes.

   Marcus and I referred to our little porn flicks in terms of how many
`wot's' it rated.  A `wot' was an acronym for Wack Off Time.  The higher
the `wottage' the more times one could use it to stimulate oneself before
growing tired of it.  We had invented the term in college.

   I know.  Men are twisted.

   I downloaded and installed the new patch for `Superspider.' Then
Thought, what the hell?  Let's fire this bad boy up.  I started it, and
`Superspider' went into search mode.  I got up and went to the window while
it did its magic.  If I stood real close to the wall, I could get an angle
that let me see the pool and the deck.

   Crystal was still swimming.  She got to the middle of the pool and leapt
upward like a porpoise, flipping in midair then back into the water to
finish the lap.  Damn, why did she not compete?  I never saw a swimmer like
her in my life, and some of the college's competition swimmers said they
had not either.

   My computer pinged.  I walked back over and it showed me many little
thumbnail images of what it had found so far.  Sitting, I saw that a few
had promise.  I looked them over, and found one of a nubile teen using a
dildo on herself.

   I clicked it open and sat back.  She filled the screen, a pretty woman
with brown hair who could not be more than twenty.  As she slid the dildo
over her belly toward her shaved slit, she stared at the camera with light
green eyes.

   I found my cock growing hard.  She had a toned body, and long, muscular
legs, from appearances, a newcomer to the industry, as the old timers were
thin, but not often toned.  Her ruby lips opened as she shoved the dildo
home, sliding inch after inch of it into herself.  Her moans were quite
nice and quite reasonable in volume and timing; it looked like this young
woman, in fact, was enjoying it.

   I reached down and pulled the elastic from my waist, and lifted out my
now-swollen cock.  Stroking it up and down its shaft in a slow motion, I
watched the attractive girl give it to herself.  She was good.  She made me
feel like she was watching me while I watched her.  I decided she was a
good seven `wotter' and figured I would make sure to point out `Heather,'
as the movie file claimed, to Marcus.

   A few minutes of satisfying stroking and I was completing my current
mission.  I came with a grunt and managed to wet my shorts a bit more.  I
stood up, made my way to my room at a jog, and changed shirt and shorts for
clean, dry clothes.  I went back to the computer room and shut down the
`Superspider.'

   "Good work Marcus," I said.

   I went to go check on Crystal.  Looking down at the pool and deck again,
now she was on the deck, sunning herself on one of the three deck chairs.
At first, I thought she was sleeping.  Then I caught movement.  It did not
register at first, but then it pierced daddy's `rose colored glasses.'

   Crystal was playing with herself.  As I focused on what she was doing,
she was moving her hand under her swimsuit bottoms in a circular motion,
just her fingers sliding around.  She was getting to the good bit, because
now her hips joined in the movement.  She hiked up her knees and spread her
legs a bit more.  I saw her mouth open a bit as she moved her hand deeper
into her bottoms.

   The tight cloth was snug before her hand was in them.  Now her hand
stretched the cloth so tight I could count the fingers under it.  I counted
just two.  She slid the missing two fingers back into view then inside
herself again, each time thrusting her pelvis upward to meet them.

   She did this for half a minute or so, going a little faster every moment
until she was pumping her fingers with frantic speed.  Crystal was dragging
her palm over her upper pelvis and, I assumed, her clitoris.

   All at once, she arched her back and performed a magician's levitation
trick.  Her body left the deck chair, lifting up, and touching the chair at
her heels and the back of her head.  A muffled scream filtered through the
window.  Had I not been right by it, I would not have heard it.  She stayed
in this tense position for a long moment, then collapsed to the chair,
panting.

   She laid like this a bit then sat up, as if she thought of something,
moving with alarmed speed.  Crystal peered over her shoulder toward the
patio door.  Probably making sure dad wasn't coming out.  I chuckled.  She
unfolded from the deck chair and slipped back into the water, though her
swimming was now much more casual and slower.

   As I turned from the window, I realized I had a serious case of wood
going on in my shorts.  "You twisted little man," I said to my dick,
"you'll get hard for anything, won't you?"

   My penis gave no response.

   "Playing it tough, are you?" I said.  "Guess I'll have to beat you into
submission," I declared and went back to the computer.

   I decided that I needed something with a bit more `teeth' than a girl
masturbating did.  I browsed until I found a video of a petite woman with a
couple of guys working her over.  I clicked it open to watch another pretty
and petite brunette being fucked doggy style by a well-hung steroid-stud.
Near her head knelt another man, his prong imbedded in her mouth.  As the
man in back pounded his cock into her cunt, she rocked forward and impaled
her mouth on the other man's cock.

   "Such efficiency of motion," I commented as my organ began its build up
to discharge.

   The man who had been in her mouth pulled his organ out and began
stroking it.  Her mouth stayed open and her tongue lolled out.  Soon he was
shooting an impressive amount of come on her face, in her mouth, and even
in her hair.  She then spit out the semen that had gotten into her mouth,
and then began to suck him some more although he was going limp.

   The man in the back started grunting and pulled himself out now.  The
young woman, being the good porn chick, spun around and took his load to
the face and mouth.  Again, she spat out what got into her mouth and then
sucked on his pole as it went down.  With a loud grunt, I began my own
little fountain, and it was much more impressive than my first attempt. 
Come managed to get all over my hand, shorts, and even a couple of long
impressive strands landed on my keyboard.

   "Dad, you okay?" called Crystal from downstairs.

   "Um.  I just stubbed my damn toe," I lied.

   Holy shit, I thought, jumping up.  I grabbed a couple of tissues from
the desk and sopped up the semen off my shorts and hand, and off my pole. I
managed to slip my bird back into its nest before Crystal's head slid into
view around the frame of the door.  She was still a little wet from the
pool, and had her towel wrapped around her waste like a skirt.  She removed
the towel and tossed it as if performing a jump shot into the hall hamper
near the bathroom door at the far end.  She walked into my office after
that, and then froze.

   I glanced down to make sure I was not showing any obvious come stains,
or an obvious bulge, all clear.

   Then I heard a voice from over my shoulder say, "Take it you slut!"

   I cringed and turned about.  On the screen was a middle-aged woman with
a large black man's tool pumping into her mouth.  He pulled out and shot a
massive load of come onto her tongue, which she pulled into her mouth, then
made a big show of swallowing.

   I turned back around, with slow-kindling dread in my mind, hoping not to
see too much shock or disgust on my daughter's face.  Instead, she was
smiling.

   She looked me in the eye and said, "It's okay, dad, I've seen dirty
movies before."

   I raised an eyebrow at her.  "You have, have you?" I asked, trying to
look stern.

   Crystal would have none of that, though, she saw through my facade. 
"Yep," she said, "I even have some in my room."

   "Really?" I asked, trying to put a chill into my voice.

   This gave her a moment's pause.  "Um.  Yeah, a DVD.  I, I got it from
Sarah before they moved.  I was supposed to give it back to her, but I
guess with them moving so suddenly, it got forgot." She had a twinge of
fear on her pretty face.

   "Hmm," I said, in what I thought was a thoughtful tone, "I think, maybe,
you should go get it and turn it over, little lady."

   She was still smiling a little, but much of the cockiness that she had
at the beginning of the conversation was gone.  She turned and walked out,
then returned a few moments later with a jewel case in her hand.

   "Here, please don't be mad," said Crystal.

   "I'm not mad, angel, just don't think this stuff is good for a young
woman your age to be consuming." Then I grinned with malicious glee.  "Wait
till you're fourteen," I said, and winked at her.  I took the jewel case
from her and put it on my desk.

   Crystal turned to walk out.  "Oh, yeah," I said.  "Go get dressed, we're
going out to McDonald's for dinner, then I thought we might go by the mall.
You need a new bathing suit." Then I waited for it.

   Her tiny body slammed into my side at some near relativistic velocity
and her arms clenched around my chest.

   "The mall!" she squealed.  My darling was unusual in many ways, but as
far as shopping, she was a very normal adolescent.  "New bathing suit? 
Yay!" she cheered into my left ear, leaving it ringing.

   I grinned at this display of exuberance.  It was unusual these days. 
Her best friend, Sarah, had moved away about four months ago, and she had
been lethargic and depressed since.  She bounced herself up and down for a
few moments, making me bounce with her.  Then she released my chest and
arms and bolted from the room.

   I switched off the computer and cleaned up the keyboard from my own
exuberance a bit before.  A few minutes later, she was wearing a denim
skirt and blouse; she had her hair in a ponytail and a pair of those
ridiculous thick-soled shoes on her feet.  She was ready to go spend
daddy's money.
   (Copyright 2005 by Deacon Blues)