Oh Daddy! - Teasing Daddy

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Well, I didn’t want to embarrass you by undressing while you were still brushing your teeth.” My dad explained. There was a glass panel that would have protected me from his eyes; but it would have still offered a clear—though blurry—silhouette of my completely naked body. I could hardly wait for him to reach into my panties and give me that tingling feeling. I didn't know then that I was having orgasms; it would be years before I learned that word, and even longer before I admitted to myself that what I experienced was orgasm. But sometimes the incest felt good -- that special feeling, all that attention and love and affection from my nice daddy. And he was, in my young mind, my nice daddy; he hugged me and put Band-Aids on my skinned knees and sang Sinatra songs to me. He opened the door slowly while I waited, hidden behind the glass panel. I knew how much he could see.

His other arm he wrapped around me, lower when I was wearing a bra but no t-shirt; but when my bare breasts were hidden behind a bulky shirt, he got high enough so that I could feel his arm brush up against them.

7.

My mom and I moved when I turned 13, into a new house where my father had never touched me and would never have the chance. I began sleeping in my own bed immediately, and I gave up my relationship with Mr. Bernard shortly thereafter. I leaned to the side, resting my head against his chest. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was all I’d be getting for now.

didn’t seem an option at the time. I kinda felt I’d gone too far, that last week of summer. Yet I still longed for his touch.Other times, the routine was different. He would work up to things slowly. We'd be wrestling, rough-housing playfully, maybe in the living room, and he would casually, repeatedly touch my vagina through my clothes. Later in bed he would hold me close and we'd laugh. He'd ask, "Who's my No. 1 girl?" And he would touch me under my nightgown, and I would like it. It's ugly and, even now, more than 25 years later, difficult for me to say. With my father, in his bed, I first experienced the bump and grind of sexual relations. It was his genitals I first explored; he was the first to touch my body sexually, and those hands have left an indelible imprint. I have no memories that predate his abuse -- his rubbing and touching, his forcing me to touch him. I felt his muscles tense up and realized my question might’ve sounded a bit naughtier than I had intended.