My Daughter Speaks Her Mind

by Lance Sterling

Copyright© 2016 by Lance Sterling

True Story: I simply got busted writing a story for

Caution: This True Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   .

To all you perverts reading the stories on this website ... my real name is Cindy. I'm not going to tell you my last name, because dad said that would be unwise, and he is pretty smart. I will tell you that his true name is not Lance Sterling, but that his first name is Rich.

I'm going to write a story and post it here under dad's name. It has a little bit of sex in it, but nothing kinky like all the other crap I've read here.

You might be wondering how a 16 year old teenager got involved with her dad's online story account and discovered he is a little bit ... hmmm ... unusual? Well let me tell you all about it.

The first time I discovered that my dad was a story teller was when I was six. I had asked him about my mom, about what she was like. He told me that she loved me very much and it was painful when she left us when I was almost three. I didn't remember her at all and dad didn't have any pictures of her, which I thought was strange. But he explained that was because mom just didn't like her picture taken. Too bad because I wondered if I looked like her. He told me that mom had gotten sick with an incurable form of cancer and that she simply died one night in the hospital. Even at six years of age I understood that cancer was a bad disease.

Anyways, the next summer when I was seven, I spent a month at Aunt Mary's house. She was single at the time, but had been married to Uncle Bill, who was pretty cool until he got killed in a car wreck. He always made me laugh and tickled me a lot. Poor Aunt Mary has lost a lot of people in her life. Her mom and then her dad, and then her husband. But she kept a smile on her face and a positive outlook in her life. I figured if anyone understood my curiosity it would be Aunt Mary because she and dad had lost their own mother early in their childhood as well, just like me. Anyways, the conversation went something like this...

"Aunt Mary," I asked, "Tell me the truth about my mom, what was she really like?"

"Haven't you talked about her with your dad?" she asked.

"Yeah, but not much, he doesn't like talking about her for some reason," I said.

"The truth is an ugly picture," she said. "You see your mom was someone who latched onto your dad because she saw dollar signs. She was bad news from the beginning. After dating her for just a couple of months she turned up pregnant with you. They got married, but it wasn't a good marriage. She complained all the time and was the laziest bitch I ever knew. After you were born she made your dad hire Mrs. Jenkins to take care of you. She didn't do much of anything except drink when your dad was out or spend his money at the bars. And she wasn't faithful either. But your father felt that a girl should have a mother, so he put up with her bullshit."

"He told me she died when I was almost three," I said, "Is that true?"

"Yeah, that is true ... she had gone out drinking and partying and did some cocaine or something. They found her in an alley the next day stiff as a board, overdosed on whatever the recreational drug of the night was. It was a blessing in disguise if you ask me.

"Cindy honey, you mother was never your mom, she was just an evil person who got what she deserved. And now I'm not going to talk about her ever again."

One thing about Aunt Mary, she never held back and would tell you the truth, painful or not. I actually didn't feel any remorse about it. Mrs. Jenkins was more like a mother to me than anyone. She was sweet and took care of me, really a grandma figure that I loved a whole lot. But as happy as I was with her, it wasn't meant to last.

She died when I was 12, almost 13. Both daddy and I cried while holding each other. She went in her sleep, peaceful and I'm glad she did. Dad said that she was just old and it was her time. I still miss her to this very day.

I mentioned earlier that my dad was a story teller. I gave you one example when I told you about my biological mother. I understand he did it to protect me, but it was still a lie. Maybe you have to be a bit of a liar to be a story teller. I guess it comes easy for him since he is a shrink. A psychiatrist actually. Don't confuse that with psychologist. That drives him nuts. He says that he takes care of patients with medical treatments, not group therapy mumbo jumbo. He says that a psychologist doesn't prescribe lithium or electroshock therapy. But he says the biggest difference is that he had to pay back an additional four years of medical school expenses.

You see, he was a doctor first. He worked in the emergency room for a number of years and then when my mother died he went into dermatology or allergy or something like that ... a more normal work week. Later he went into psychiatry and that is what he still practices today, helping people overcome their crazy problems.

But if you ask me, he is the one who needs help ... have your read his stories on this website? (Sorry dad, just kidding!)

So a few weeks back, we got out of school early at noontime. Since it is just him and me at home now, I decided to surprise him and got a cab to the clinic. We had a really nice lunch together. I mean who cannot love eating at a buffet place ... right? Afterwards he asked me if I wanted to take a cab home, or I could hang around his office while he saw his afternoon patients. He said if I did that, then we could go see the last Hunger Games movie when he got off work and could eat a late supper afterwards, that is if I still had any room after a large popcorn with melted butter and a diet soda.

I told him that I'd love to wait for him, and then asked if I could use his laptop and surf the web while I waited. He said, "Sure honey, just don't spend all your allowance on Amazon otherwise you're going to be broke next week."

Okay ... now here comes the kinky stuff.

I took the laptop into an empty office, plugged it in, grabbed a chocolate milk from the fridge, closed the door and sat down at the desk and turned the laptop on.

When the screen came up, there was an open file in the word processor. I scrolled to the beginning and read the title, and the author's name of "Lance Sterling." I thought it was something that dad had downloaded and was reading.

So I started reading it and it wasn't long before the sex started in the story. And it was pretty graphic. There was a lot of brother-sister incest in the story, and it was kinda hot in some ways, and kinda disgusting in other ways. I kept reading until I got to the last page and there the story just stopped. There were a few notes typed on the last lines, things that said, "end love scene here" and "begin closure to ranch here." They were notes like someone who was writing a draft would place at the end.

It was here that I realized this was a work of my dad's, and not yet complete. That was when I decided to go into his document folder and see what was there.

There were like two dozen stories all there, all written by the same guy, Lance Sterling. And, the stories had titles that said either DRAFT or POSTED ONLINE.

Now I was really curious. So I opened up the web browser and clicked on the icon that I knew was a history of websites my dad had visited. My dad is kinda computer dumb ... I mean he can turn it on, he can type a document and print it, he can even surf the web ... but beyond that, he is clueless. He certainly never knew that he could (and probably should have) deleted his site histories.

One site that I saw over and over was one called So I went there first. (By the way dad, I also saw that you made some visits to some porn sites too!)

The laptop logged me on automatically to the website and I clicked on the author's link, and then clicked on a link to manage stories. I'll be damned if half of the stories on the laptop were posted on the website. My dad was (and is) a porn writer. Ohhh, this was good. I couldn't believe it. Not my dad, I mean "NO WAY!"

So with the whole afternoon in front of me, I started reading the stories. Some were simple science fiction stories with no sex. Okay, I can accept that. Then I read one called "The Fishing Trip." I knew it was a make believe story too, but something about it seemed familiar. It got me thinking back to Aunt Mary and her place with the lake in the center of the woods on my grandpa's land. (BTW, my grandpa died before my dad ever met my mom).

The similarity made me wonder. Also the story used the name Lance in it, and dad still calls Aunt Mary "Sissy." No way I told myself. This is probably dad's fantasy.

It was about this time I'm really wondering about my dad ... I mean, is he kinky or what?

I finished up reading all the stories, and several of them dealt with sister-brother incest. I know my Aunt Mary and dad are close ... but that close?

With still an hour to go before dad saw his last patient, I closed the windows on the laptop and started surfing eBay and Amazon, looking for nothing in particular. But still what I read kept coming back to me.

The hour passed and dad had finished with his last appointment. It would only take about 30 minutes more of him dictating his patient's charts and he would be ready to go. Finally he walked into the office and I turned off the laptop and closed it.

"How's my little girl," he asked, "Are you ready for a movie?"

"Yep," I replied smiling at him, "Let's go!"

We went to the theater and got our tickets, a large popcorn that we would share, though I knew that I would end up eating 80% of it. And a diet soda for me, bottle of water for dad.

The movie was really good, and I was glad in the end to see Katniss and Peeta together with kids of their own. A great movie with a happy ending. That is just what I love.

From there we hit the pizzaria. After the popcorn all I could handle was a couple of slices. But they were still yummy. (Thanks again Dad!)

During pizza time we talked about the movie and what we thought about it. What could have been different to make it better. And then we got into our car and dad drove us home. I was still thinking about my dad's stories, but didn't say anything about it.

When we got home that Friday evening it was pretty late, almost 11 p.m.

"It's not a school day tomorrow honey," he stated, "You want to stay up and watch TV?"

"Nah," I said, "I'm kinda tired dad."

He walked over to me where I was hanging up my jacket and wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the forehead.

"Me too," he said, "I think I'll take a quick shower and turn in."

I went upstairs and got into my pajamas. In the summer I wear a thin cotton nightgown, but in the winter I wear heavier cotton pajama pants and a long sleeve T-shirt cause it is warmer.

I heard the shower turn off and gave him a few minutes to get ready for bed. Dad sleeps in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt too.

I walked to his bedroom door and knocked on it, "Dad, are you decent, can I come in?"

"Sure," he called out, "What do you need honey?"

I opened the door and saw he was already in bed under the covers. I walked over, hopped up on the bed and sat cross-legged next to him and began...

"Dad, today when I was on the laptop there was a story open. It was a western type story with a lot of sex in it. And then I opened up the browser and it took me to a site that has more stories on it, all of an adult nature. That was when I realized that you were writing sex stories and posting them online."

Dad looked at me and frowned, and then he smiled, and then he rolled his eyes into the top of his head and gave me an exaggerated look of "Oops, I'm busted."

"Honey," he began, "I'm not going to lie to you. I enjoy writing. It is kind of an emotional release for me. So I write stories and post them for others to read. Some are just stories, some have a lot of sex in them. They don't reflect any hidden desires or anything, they are just fiction. I hope you understand that. Do you?"

I said, "I guess I do, it is just that site has thousands of stories on them and most all of them are porn stories. I guess I just didn't think that you would be into that."

"Well," he said, "Let me ask you a question. Have you ever visited a porn site and watched people have sex? Ever?"

I looked him in the eye and decided to be honest with him. "I guess so," I said, "Probably half a dozen times, but I was just curious is all, you know about the sex and maybe the size of the guys penis."

"Didn't we have a pretty intimate talk about that when you were 13?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, "But I'm 16 now and more curious than I was back then."

"Well, visiting the porn sites, did they turn you into a sex fiend, or a slut, or have any effect on you whatsoever?"

"No, of course not daddy, I mean they may have excited me a little, but they didn't change who I am at all."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that. You see it is the same thing with my story writing, I'm still your dad who loves you and would protect you from anything. I'm no different just because I enjoy writing stories, even those stories that are a little controversial in nature."

"Okay," I said, "I guess I can accept that. I was just wondering is all."

"Good," he said again, "Anything else?"

"Yeah," I answered, "I'd like to write a story too. But I want to write it and I want you to post it on that website under your stories. I want to explain to everyone exactly what a great dad you are and what kind of dad you are."

"Oh, I don't know about that," he began, "I'm not sure I like the idea of you getting involved with this web site."

"Dad," I started, "I could have logged onto that site and opened my own account and written my own stories. I'm not a kid you know. I'm just asking that you let me write a story and that you post it on your page or whatever it is. I'll explain in the opening that I am not you, that I am your daughter and I wanted to discuss your stories and that you are not a pervert or anything."

"No, you are not a kid anymore, but you aren't an adult yet either," he said. "Tell you what, you write your story and when it is done give it to me. I'll review it for posting then."

"Dad, I don't want you to edit or change my story at all!"

"I won't, I promise," he replied, "I will just make sure that it doesn't contain anything that can be linked back to our personal lives ... no real names or at least no last names, no addresses or phone number, nothing that could be used to discover who we really are. I'll post it exactly as you write it otherwise, okay?"

"You've got a deal," I said, and then I leaned over and kissed him briefly on the lips ... a little girl to daddy kiss like we often did.

I hopped down and went to my own bedroom and fell asleep thinking about what I would write.

That was last month in early December, 2015.

During the school break, Aunt Mary came to visit with us over Christmas like she does nearly every year.

One day when dad was at work and Aunt Mary was with me at home, I asked her if she was busy. She told me that she wasn't and asked what was on my mind. I told her.

"Aunt Mary, I would like you to read something. It will only take a few minutes, but you have to keep an open mind, okay?"

"Okay sweetheart, what is it?" she asked.

I handed her the story of "The Fishing Trip" that I had printed off. She reached over and turned the lamp a little brighter and then stopped and took her glasses out of her purse. Then she started reading.

"Oh my god," she said, "Where did you get this?"

I told her. Then I told her that I had remembered the story she told me once about how her and dad got caught in the rain on a fishing trip while grandpa was down in Texas. In the version she told me, dad had gotten wet, but that he never had gotten naked. And there certainly wasn't any sex in her version.

"So Aunt Mary, I just gotta know, how close is that to what really happened?"

She looked at me with her serious look, and then smiled. "Honey, I hope you are not disappointed in your dad and me."

"I love you and dad, of course not!" I exclaimed.

"Well, after reading it," she said, "It brought back memories that I had forgotten. Like Karen's mom giving me a ride home the night I lost my virginity, and how strong the wind blew that first night in the tent. I'd say that your dad has a remarkable memory."

"So it is true?" I asked, "All of it?"

"That was so long ago," she stated dropping her arms to her side, "So very very long ago. But to answer your question, that story is 100% exactly what happened on that fishing trip, except for the names.

"Wow," I said softly. "You guys never did it again?"

"No," she answered, "Not that I didn't think of it or wanted to, but your dad kept his word and never went that direction ... ever."

"It's kinda sad," I said, "I mean you and dad loved each other so much."

"Incest is a taboo in our society, and one that has merit. If a couple has an intimate relationship that results in children, if there is a recessive disease or disorder, it can kill them. Hemophilia, the bleeding disease, is an example where even today half a million people suffer from it and have for thousands of years. If a brother and sister both carry the recessive gene for it, even if they don't have it, their children might."

"Still, couldn't you just not have children or adopt?" I asked.

"I've had those thoughts myself," Aunt Mary answered. "But enough of this. Now you know a secret about your dad and me, one that is almost 23 years old. You've read the story and know that your dad and I were and are very close. But that was in the past. I'm glad I can share this secret with you, but it is one that we cannot, nor should we, talk about again. Okay?"

"Okay Aunt Mary, I understand. And thank you for sharing the truth with me. You are the best Aunt ever!" Then I walked over to her and hugged her and gave her a kiss.

"And you're the best niece an aunt could ask for," She replied with a smile hugging me back. "Now go shred this story before you dad sees it."

Incest, maybe it is wrong some times, but maybe it isn't other times. I was a little confused and knew I had to think about it some.

Maybe dad isn't such a pervert after all. (Just joking dad, don't have a cow!)

My dad respects my privacy and I respect his. Over the years, he has brought a few women into our home who spent the night. But they were always quiet and I never knew or understood what was going on behind his closed bedroom door. And I never asked.

Dad isn't quite as trusting as me however. I have brought a few boys home to study with. Really! Never any sex stuff, just study or play a game or whatever. When I go into my room with a friend and he is male, dad makes sure to not hover around us or to interrupt us in whatever we are doing. Dad does have a rule however that the bedroom door remains open. I guess that is to discourage the boy from taking liberties with me. That's okay, I'm not ready to get that involved with anyone yet anyways.

There is one final thing I would like to write about. And this does concern sex. Like I've been trying to write, my dad is not a pervert, not at all. He doesn't make comments or innuendos about how I'm growing up, how beautiful I am, he doesn't stare at my panties, even though he has seen them lots of times. He never touches me inappropriately or anything. And the couple of times that he has seen me naked, he never stood there getting a hard on like I read in some of the stories. (You didn't did you dad?) He is just a great dad doing his best to raise his 16 year old daughter by himself the best he can.

I love him very much and trust him explicitly. (I really do Dad!)

But I guess it is time to mention one time when things did get a little kinky. I mean it wasn't kinky for me or for my dad. But you would probably think he is a pervert if you didn't know the both of us for who we are. But since you don't know the story, let me tell you what happened.

I guess this is okay to share with you readers, because my dad shared some of his private moments with you. This happened when I was 13, just a few years ago. It all started because of school, or specifically a health class in the 8th grade. You know the class, where they try to keep you from drinking or doing drugs. Only this particular week they were talking about puberty and showing us cartoon movies about how babies were made.

At the end of the class, I didn't really understand any more than I did before, but I knew who to ask about it ... I mean if you can't talk to your dad, who can you talk to?

I got home that afternoon and thought about how I would put my plan into action. I had a lot of questions, like how much sperm shoots out, how big is average, do grownups masturbate, when will I start masturbating, just a million questions that they didn't even approach in health class.

Dad got home about an hour later and fixed us up some macaroni and cheese with hot dogs. One of his and my favorites. Then we sat down and watched TV. He sat in his recliner, and I stretched out on the couch. Finally 9:00 p.m. rolled around and it was time to take our showers and go off to bed. But this time rather than going to my bedroom, I followed him into his bedroom and sat down on his bed.

He looked at me and then asked, "Something you want to talk about honey?"

"Yeah," I said.


"Dad, do you remember when I was little we used to take showers together?"

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