Friends who know of my little secret often ask me how I managed to get my wife to go along with the plan, perhaps to use it themselves, and when I tell them it had been HER idea all along, for some strange reason, they find it hard to believe. I know I can't exactly blame them, for which mother would ask that her husband fuck their daughter so that she can be straight? Mine did, and I am sure she is probably the only woman in the world who would.
Not that I am complaining, of course, but even I have to admit there's a screw loose in her head somewhere... still, that's getting ahead of the story.
It all began over four years ago...
It was a warm night, and the missus and I had just finished watching the last good show for the day on TV. I sighed as I turned off the box - back to sleep. The thing is, there was nothing to look forward to for me as far as the bedroom was concerned; after our sixth kid had been born, my wife Bertha had cut me down to once a month. Now I am by no means young, but all the work on farm does keep me fit and trim. I need my share of outlets, and I had to turn to wanking off myself for any sort of release.
My wife, a staunch orthodox Roman Catholic, really disapproved of the habit. On the other hand, she did nothing about it. That was one thing about her that really pissed me off. That, and the fact that she wanted to raise the kids her way. The rest did grow up her way, but our eldest, Rachel, was more of a free spirit. She was the only one in the house who seemed to have any idea of her sexuality, and it only served to highlight what I was missing out.
On this particular night, as we walked up the stairs, Bertha paused in front of Rachel's room. The other kids had gone to bed an hour early, but we had given up on Rachel - she was adamant as to her hours of sleeping. She's a good kid, though, and helps me out everyday in milking the cows, but never did anything else around the house other than her own stuff, mostly.
"Can you hear something?" my wife whispered, motioning me towards the door.
I strained my ears, and I realized what she meant. Moans came from the room, feminine moans. For a second, I thought that Rachel was masturbating, but then, ever so faintly, I heard another voice say, "Oooh, Rachel, baby, that feels so good!"
With a start, both of us realized that it was a girl. As far as we knew, Rachel hadn't brought anyone over for the night, and it certainly wasn't studies she was discussing during the summer holidays.
Before you get your hackles up, let me tell you that I've always believed in giving your kids privacy. Especially once they cross fourteen... but a parent's got to do what a parent's got to do, and somehow, I didn't particularly fancy the idea of my baby girl - yeah, right, "I am eighteen now, Daddy!" - having sex - and it definitely sounded like it - with another girl.
... Okay, so I've peeked into her room on a couple of occasions, without success, but this was different.
Bertha, on the other hand, seemed to have no such thoughts on the need for privacy. Without even giving a perfunctory knock on the door, she just turned the knob and barged in, me dumbly behind her.
Then she stopped short, as a shriek of "Mom!" and "Mrs. Jackson!" went into the air. When I saw what had stopped her, I guess my jaw dropped to the floor. I couldn't help it; I had never seen something like this before.
There, on the bed, lay my daughter Rachel and her best friend, Stella, and my daughter was finger-fucking her friend as the latter ate her out. Neither had a single stitch of clothing on - whatever they had been wearing was now an unruly pile near the window. Right now, they were frozen motionless, a mixture of fear and lust in their eyes, and even as I watched, whatever fear remained in my daughter's eyes turned into one of cockiness.
I couldn't take my eyes off her body, though. It had been years since I had seen her naked, and what a difference now from what it had been then! She had boobs that can only be described as perfect, topped with little cherries of red, and her blonde hair had fallen all over her, giving her a very sultry look. Her friend Stella was a pale comparison, a bit lighter in every aspect, and did not seem to radiate that air of sensuality that my daughter so evidently possessed.
Absently, I adjusted my hard-on.
"Don't you believe in knocking?" Rachel broke the ice herself. The two female lovers had parted, but neither made any move to cover themselves. Brazenly, Rachel fixed her mother with a level stare. Oh, boy was she just asking for trouble!
Beside me, my wife tensed. I cast a vary glance at her, sure that things were going to blow up sky-high tonight. And the fact that Rachel hadn't bothered to cover herself didn't help at all. Nor was it helping me maintain a fatherly composure... Bertha had her hands on her hips, a sign that she was all set for a confrontation.
"Stella, get your clothes and get out of here," my wife said curtly, pointedly ignoring Rachel.
Rachel wasn't about to have any of that. "Waitaminit! Stella, you are not going anywhere! Mom, how dare you..."
"All I have to do, Stella, is call your parents. It's your choice." Even I shuddered at her tone. Man, was she pissed off!
The poor girl had no other way out. Hurriedly, she gathered her dress and started to pull it up. She cast an apologetic glance at Rachel, and then rushed out of the room. My wife had scared the shit out of her so much that she hadn't even bothered with her bra and had just thrown on her top. She was out of the room before she had even covered her tits properly.
For the next few seconds, mother and daughter stared at each other. I braced myself to step in if a catfight broke out, as it most likely might. Abruptly, Rachel stood up.
"Where are you going, young lady?" my wife asked sharply.
"I need to get dressed, don't I?" she retorted, taking a step towards her clothes.
For a woman her size, Bertha crossed the room extremely fast and caught Rachel by her elbow. "You going anywhere?"
Rachel winced from the grip and shook her arm free. "Only if you let me go to Stella's."
"Good, then you are not going anywhere." With that, my wife caught our daughter's hand again and this time, flung her towards the bed. Rachel fell across the bed as my wife turned to me and said, "Close the door, Peter, I don't want the rest of the kids to see her like this."
"Let's have no violence here, Berth -" I began, but she cut me off with a curt, "I know."
Then she turned to her daughter. "You can get dressed after you explain all this, and I am hoping that you can explain all this."
"Explain what?" Rachel was now in profile to me, facing her mother, and I silently marveled at how her breasts were able to defy gravity and stay firm on her chest. Her body's only flaw was the tan lines from sunbathing, and the paleness of the skin was in sharp contrast to the dark shade that her nipple was colored. Rachel was resting on her arms now, one leg slung over the other, and I found myself trying to remember if she had it shaved or not.
"Your taste," my wife continued. "Why, with all the men in the world, you would rather have a woman to have sex with? Explain why you are a," she spat out the last word, "lesbian."
Rachel snickered. "Why, Mom, why is it so wrong to you? Because your Church told you it is bad? Face the reality Mom, being gay is no more different than being straight. Besides, what's it to you if I want a woman for my needs? It's not like I seduced Dad or anything..."
"At least then, you would be straight," my wife shot back. "It's sick, you know, when a woman has sex with another woman!"
"You are sick, Mom, and your views are so old-fashioned you could take them to the museum of antiques. Look, Mom, I don't know whose genes I have - it's definitely not yours when it comes to sex - but I get horny very easily and very often. And with your stuck-up rules and shit, I just can't even dream of having a regular boyfriend... cause I know you will never let me live in peace then.
"So I figured, what the hell, at least you won't suspect a girl. All I had to be was careful and stay out of your Oh-God-told-me-so way and you wouldn't even know your little girl was fucking another little girl."
I would like to add that at a couple of points, I tried to impose some decorum on the language used, but neither mother nor daughter seemed to hear, so I slid into the background again.
"Oh, so that's it? You are horny, so you just grab the first person who comes your way and have sex with her?"
"You could put it that way, I suppose."
"So if you had someone to fuck all the time, someone male, you wouldn't look for a female anymore?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. Not that I find it ever likely that you'll set me up with a guy I can fuck anytime and you won't get on my case again..." Rachel's voice was dripping with sarcasm.
Bertha was quiet for a second, whether in thought or for effect I don't know, and then, in a calmer voice that was more fitting the mother, "What if I said yes, there is such a guy?"
I looked at my wife. My still-naked daughter looked at my wife. And my wife looked at us, one by one, with a strange smugness on her face, as if she had just checkmated her daughter. I started to have a strange feeling this was leading back to my own grave, but I couldn't exactly put my finger on what it was.
"Okay, I'll buy that. Who have you got in mind?"
"Do you agree to my terms yet?"
"Who is the guy? I have to like him too."
"Oh, you will. In fact, you love him already."
"I do?" my daughter was puzzled, "Who is it? Ricky Martin?"
.... There is more of this story ...