Even as I drove in through the open garage door, the pounding rain which had made it impossible to hear the car radio continued its staccato on the tin roof of the garage. Though I'm not particularly religious, or at least not very observant, still a silent prayer ran through my brain to the effect that the deluge might help save our bone-dry section of the country. Still, I believe that if the rain noise had simply been one of mere pitter-patter, somehow my life would be different.

That was because it made my entry, through the door into the kitchen on my way to the living room, unintentionally silent. The picture has never left my memory – nor my fantasy.

They were clad exactly as they had screamed their ways out of their respective birth canals. Exactly, except for the pubic hairs adorning their respective sex organs. As they were lying on a light beige carpet, my brain stupidly jumped to another prayer, that they would not stain the lovely and expensive carpeting with their uncontrollable bodily fluids. Her arms stretched out to the side, perpendicular to her torso as if she were a high wire acrobat attempting to keep her balance. Her hands were palm down, grasping the carpeting. Her legs were spread to an angle of ninety degrees or more, offering a view of her open cunt, drooling out the creamy fuck sauce that could ruin the carpeting. I had never had my face between a woman's legs but I wanted to run across the room and dive in to slurp, to dry up the wetness of her lust.

He was kneeling, one leg along each side of her neck. His ass cheeks were resting on her breasts, just above her nipples. Those were like one inch pencil erasers, standing at attention, inviting lips, teeth, fingers. He was fucking her mouth while she gagged and coughed. Every back stroke brought his shiny cock into view. I guessed it at seven inches of meat (that is longer than a dollar bill), and slimy with her saliva. I watched in breathless silent awe as he grunted and pulled out of her lips. Four, five spurts of his cum spread over her face: hair, eyes, nose, chin.

Her tongue flicked out to catch the last little bit on the ejaculation suspended on the tip of his piss hole. In that instant, I knew, I resolved, that the cock I was watching would be the cock to first know and to rip apart the virgin cherry hidden between my legs. The mere fact that he was able to keep his cock hard while the juice of his first orgasm still spilled from her pussy was enough to convince me.

I gasped, and it was audible. They both turned toward the sound. He jumped up, grabbed his polo shirt and ran to the couch. He used the shirt like a diaper, putting one part of the shirt to sit on – must keep the couch clean, of course – and using the other part of the shirt to cover his three piece set –for modesty, of course.

She on the other hand sat up like a deer in the headlights. She used one hand to scoop the pearlish cream from her face and lick it off of her fingers.

It might be of interest to you to be aware of whom 'he' and 'she' might be. He is my Daddy; she is my Mom's sister, Aunt Debbie. Daddy did not attempt to ezplain, for nothing he said could have fooled my eyes. Instead, he immediately began to beg me not to tell my Mom what I had seen. He promised to treat me like a princess, and he later actually carried out that promise. He made me promise not to tell Mom, and I kept that promise. Until, until...

It was all for naught because a month later Mom caught him one day with her other sister, Carmen, fucking her from behind.

A year later. "What the fuck is going on? That prick was out by a mile." Daddy yelled and I felt his body lurch toward the pixels on the screen. For a brief moment, I saw the head of his pecker peek its head out from under his pajama bottoms. It was the first time I'd seen his naked cock since the time I'd found him with Aunt Debbie. This time it was flaccid and dry. That other time it had been hard and shiny with Debbie's pussy juice and I'd seen a good bit of his shaft pumping in and out of her until they realized that I had caught them en flagrante.

In that memorable instant, I had resolved to have his cock inside me one day, but neither of us ever made a move on the other. Nevertheless, I could tell when he looked at me that he was not viewing a daughter but rather some future female conquest.

There had been only the two of us at home watching that ball game. Mom was 'visiting relatives', which is a polite way of saying 'it's none of your fucking business but she's in Rehab, trying again for the umpteenth time to dry out from too much vodka.' I've never been able to decide if it was my fault or Daddy's.

I had come home from school one day, a month after I had found Dad and Aunt Debbie and saw Aunt Carmen's car parked in the driveway. In the house, I found them both naked on the living room carpeting. They were, needless to say, connected at the groin. Unfortunately, I got there just a minute after Mom. I missed the nude scene but not the screaming. That's what started her drinking to excess. Daddy's fault for sure, but did I make it worse by not telling her what I had seen a month earlier? Doesn't matter now; she's a perpetual drunk, specializing in vodka.

Anyway, Daddy and I were sitting on the couch in the basement, trying to stay awake while we watched a ball game from three thousand miles away. My head was on his shoulder, resting, while his arm was around my neck. Truth be told, I was really trying to fall asleep.

"Huh? What?" That was me, Christine, or Krissy, not to be confused with Daddy, whose first name was Christopher, or Chris.

"I'm sorry, Krissy. I didn't mean to use those words, but that umpire is fucking blind."

"I'm sixteen, Daddy. I've heard the word 'fuck' before. I've even seen you and Aunt Debbie doing it in the living room. I know what the word means."

Suddenly the room was silent, as if the sound on the TV had been muted. Daddy looked at me strangely. Then he whispered.

"Have you ever done it?"

Oh shit. I felt like I had stepped in shit. I had to avoid the question.

"Done what, Daddy?"

"Don't act like a politician. You know fucking well what I mean." By then, he was yelling.

"What's your definition?" I kept trying to prolong the issue.

"Stop the bullshit. How far have you gone?"

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. As of this writing, which is a long time before posting, a pound equals USD 1.54 or CDN 2.04. Not that it means anything to the story but I just felt like showing off my Internet searching ability.

"Three hand jobs and one blow job."

"What's his name?"

"There were four different guys, Daddy."

"All at once?"

"Fuck no. All at different times."

He let his body fall back against the couch. "If only your mother was here..."

Daddy would have had a coronary if I had told the truth. Those four had all been with the same person, my French teacher, who had already upped my grade from C- to A- and if I let him fuck me, it would become A+. And the blowjob was really a sixty-nine. Plus, the French teacher was not my only experience. Not by a mile. But that wasn't the worst of it. That teacher was not 'one of our kind'. And believe me, in our family, there was a lot of prejudice, and prejudice was more important than virtue.

He moved into his cross-examination mode.

"Were they Catholic?" I was tired and didn't want an argument. Nor did I want to lie too much. I said nothing.

"Where they at least Christian? Were they white? American?"

The answer to each question was No, but I continued to remain silent. However, my pussy was drooling with anticipation. I wanted that cock and I knew that I would soon have it. I started to walk past him, toward the staircase to the bedrooms. He grabbed me by the arm.

"Where are you going, cunt?"

Despite my desire to be in Daddy's bed, I began to boil.

"Who are you calling a cunt? What about those skanky cunt girl friends that I make breakfast for every other morning when Mom is in Rehab?"

"They're not my girlfriends. They're ... they're ... they're..."

"They're twenty dollar cock suckers you pick up in some bar and keep overnight. You want your cock sucked? I'll bet that I can do a better job than any of them."

"You think so, huh?"

"You want me to prove it?" I asked.

I saw it in his face without him having to say anything. He was thinking, calculating. He had fucked both of Mom's sisters and they were nowhere near as attractive as Mom. And I was better looking even than Mom, and cherry to boot – if I wasn't lying. He was perpetually horny, coming home with a different slut almost every night when Mom wasn't home. And he believed, correctly, that I had experience with hand jobs and blow jobs. He had always hated Grandma and I was sure that he would have considered it a flower in his cap if he fucked every one of her female descendants.

And then his eyes softened. Lust had left his mind. He no longer had any desire to fuck me, though I had blatantly offered him my mouth, and by implication my pussy. I was not anymore his daughter, the cunt like all the others. I felt his hard grip leave my arm. Instead I saw his hand reach out toward me, inviting me to place my hand in his. No doubt he needed to empty his balls, and no doubt whacking off was not his preferred remedy. But somehow I knew that my Daddy had no desire for me to give him a blow job. Nor did he wish to fuck me.

Daddy wanted to make love to me.

Why? I don't know, probably never will. We all know that man lives for the orgasm, and that it controls his entire psyche, guides his every thought. OK, women also, but not as strongly, not as single-mindedly. Was it because, despite his wandering eyes and cock, he still loved Mom and I reminded him of her? Was it because I am his daughter and he had the natural love that every parent has for his or her child? Was it because I was so loveable while his sisters-in-law were just objects of his lust, like every whore he brought home from his bar prowling?

Who knows, who cares? But while I loved my Daddy as a Daddy, I was the one who was in lust, hot for one particular cock. And all I had to do was to put my hand in his and my wildest fantasy would be fulfilled.

I took his hand and slowly, silently, arms pressing against each other. We walked up the stairs. Idly, I wondered if he would lead me to my bedroom or to the master bedroom. His bed was a mess, I knew, for I never had any desire to handle the linens stained with the fluids of the various sluts who from time to time serviced him as cum dumpsters. Yet I was so anxious for Daddy to take my cherry that if need be I was willing to spread myself on his slut-stained sheets.