When my big sister Gemma called me and told me that she and Jim wanted to go on a three-week-long cruise in the Med, and could I look in on Dad while they were away, I was really pleased. I hadn’t been to see him for over ten months and this was the push that I needed to get my act together.

It was over two years ago when Gemma had finally had to admit that he had become too much for her to handle, and we’d had to make the hard decision to put him into a home.

He had been a very successful fund manager, his colleagues used to call him ‘The Silver Fox’ after some particularly cunning deals that he made; money was never going to be a problem.

It was a very, very nice home, he had his own suite and it was only a twenty-minute drive from Gemma’s place so she could visit him regularly.

My mom, Kate, had died of a stroke when she was only fifty-two. Dad had mentally deteriorated rapidly after her death and, initially at least, we thought that it was grief. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a year later.

Although he was fine most of the time, he had periods when he would get confused over where and when he was, and he would sometimes wander off. He needed twenty-four-hour supervision that we couldn’t provide; thus the nursing home

That was two years ago, and I’m ashamed to say I had only seen him three times in all that time. It wasn’t that I’d decided ten months ago not to see him. It was just that whenever it occurred to me that I should, I would put it off, because of <insert feeble reason here>.

I had very few excuses: I’m an author so I can work from anywhere, and the flight from Seattle only took an hour, but, in all honesty, I knew that seeing the person that my dad had been, disappearing before my eyes, would break my heart. It was pathetic and selfish and heartless of me to leave so much to Gemma and I felt incredibly guilty about it but there it was.

Anyway it was all agreed, and I would stay at their place while they were away. the only slight problem was that I couldn’t do the first five days because I had a short break arranged with my current bloke: Stuart, but Gemma thought Dad would be OK for that time.

Stuart was the latest of many boyfriends I’d had over the years. None of them were very serious. My friend Mandy said that it was because I’m always comparing them to my dad and none of them measured up to his high standard. But then she’d been seeing a shrink since she was fifteen and always over-analyzed everything.

When I arrived at the home I was told by the receptionist that Mrs McGovern, the manager, would like to have a word with me. I was shown to her office and she got right to the point.

“There’s no easy way to say this Miss Chivers, or may I call you Claire?”

“Claire’s fine,” I replied.

“Well Claire, I’m afraid your father has been ... pleasuring himself in front of the other guests and staff.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” I told her, a bit taken aback.

“It’s actually not that uncommon in dementia sufferers and we sometimes find that a drug to lower the libido can be helpful.” I didn’t like the idea of them giving Dad some sort of chemical cosh in the slightest.

“I’ll talk to him and see what I think,” I told her.

My father was in his suite and she showed me along there after our talk. When I entered the room he stood up, and, to be honest, he looked better than ever. How is it that some men, like Sean Connery and Charles Dance for example, just get better looking with age, whereas others just seem to wither away. My dad was definitely in the former group and I felt my heart beat a little faster.

He had always been a physically imposing man: six feet two inches, broad chest, mane of now silver hair, and a chin you could split coconuts on. He looked at me and smiled, then his expression changed to one of confusion.

Finally, he broke into a huge grin and rushed towards me.

“Darling. It’s been so long.” He wrapped me up in his still-strong arms and held me tight. It had been years since he had embraced me like that and it brought back many happy feelings from my youth. Like most girls I suspect, I’d had a crush on my dad starting when I was about twelve or so. It was nothing sexual then, I just loved the feel of him touching and hugging me.

He held me at arm’s length and appeared to study me.

“You’re even more gorgeous than I remembered,” he told me, and, of course, it was lovely to hear. I’d been a bit worried that he might not remember me and his reaction was a huge relief.

Then he pulled me in and kissed me full on the lips. It wasn’t the kiss of a father to his daughter at all, but it was a very nice kiss, and I felt myself beginning to respond to it. That was the moment I started to suspect that he didn’t know who I was, and when I felt his tongue touch my lips I was sure of it.

With some difficulty, I pulled away from him.

“Daddy, it’s me, Claire,” I told him firmly. He looked baffled. “Your daughter, Claire. I’m sorry it’s been so long.” There was still no recognition in his eyes and I steered him towards the sofa.

When he was sat down he looked up at me and frowned.

“Why are you being like this Kate? And where have you been, I’ve missed you so much.” and he put his hand out towards my groin. I took a step back and saw annoyance in his expression.

In a way his confusion was understandable. I’d seen pictures of Mom when she was my age, twenty-three, and we, and Gemma, were all very similar: My mom’s mom was Mexican and we all had her black hair, dark eyes, and light brown complexion. Mom and I were shorter and more curvaceous whereas Gemma was more willowy, but, in all modesty, we were all pretty cute.

“It’s been so long,” he muttered, and he started to rub, what I saw now was a sizable erection, through his trousers.

“It’s not really appropriate to do that Daddy,” I chided him, and I sat down next to him and tried gently to take his hand away, but he grabbed mine instead and pushed it firmly down onto his cock. I tried to pull my hand away but he was surprisingly strong.

“Look what you still do to me, Kate,” he told me, and moved my hand over his penis which I could feel twitching and throbbing. I yanked my hand away.

“Daddy it’s me Claire. Your daughter. You can’t do that!” I told him, but he was paying me no attention, he had pulled out his cock and he was wanking furiously.

I’d never seen it before and it was even nicer than the image my fevered teenage imagination had conjured up. It was longer than most, probably seven inches, and thick, with corded veins running along it. He had no foreskin to speak of, and his knob was almost purple and very shiny.

My emotions were all over the place: I was horrified by the state he was in, I felt protective of him and worried about the damage he was doing himself, and I was aroused, very aroused; that was my dad’s cock, that I’d secretly hankered after as a young girl!

I stood there dithering for too long and his cock was starting to look very sore.

“Please stop Daddy, you’re hurting yourself,” I pleaded with him, but it had no noticeable effect.

I could see in his face that he was getting frustrated because he couldn’t climax but it just seemed to make him even more determined.

I got some hand cream out of my bag. My intention was just to dribble some onto him so he wouldn’t injure himself. But, when I imagined the amount of piss and shit he must have cleaned up for me when I was a baby, a little semen didn’t seem like such a big issue. I squirted the cream onto my hand instead.