Chapter 1: Friday

It was my weekend to have our daughter, Lindy. My wife, Louise, and I had been divorced for six years, but it had been fairly amicable – as much as divorces can be. She’d met another man eventually, and they’d married, but I still got to see my daughter every other weekend. Lindy was 16 and we’d been fucking for two years now.

I blame school sex education, personally. It seems to go so far – describing as best you can in words and still photographs the mechanics of sex, and attempting to cover the emotional side of it, but always in cold, clinical language that is ‘politically correct’. Love isn’t about political correctness. People accept that men and women are equal in life, except for the one design feature that sets them apart: women are meant to have babies, and men have the means of keeping them pregnant. So at the moment a man fucks a baby into a woman’s womb, their stone-age brains are leading them to act out the primeval mating ritual – which doesn’t give a damn about political correctness. He dominates, she submits.

In the modern world, after the mating, she generally dominates – in the Western world at least. And a good thing, too. Women’s more intricately-wired brains enable them to be good at so many diverse things we’re foolish if we let them go to waste. Of course, men are better at being able to focus on one thing and do it well, so that attribute has to be utilised, too.

To get back to Lindy, two years ago, during one of her weekends with me, I’d nodded off in front of the television on the Friday evening to find her kneeling on the floor beside me. She had opened the flies of my shorts (it had been a hot day) so she could see my cock, and was experimenting with the feel of it. It began to fill with blood and her eyes widened as the short, wrinkly thing she’d been feeling suddenly became a long, smooth shaft, the little eye at the end staring directly at her.

She glanced at my face, to find I was watching her, and with a yelp of surprise, she backed away, getting to her feet.

“Sorry, Daddy,” she said, “I just wanted to see a real penis.”

I shrugged. “It’s not a problem, Lindy. Go ahead, have a good look. Anything else you want to see?”

“You don’t mind?” she checked, glancing down at my slowly deflating tool.

“Not if you don’t,” I replied, “but you can’t tell other people – including, especially, your mother – or I could go to jail.”

“I promise, Daddy,” she said, returning to the side of the bed.

As soon as she touched my cock, it stiffened again. It had been years since I’d last had anyone handle my genitals – although, of course, I checked they were in working order two or three times a week – so it was not surprising that a little precum oozed out of the tip. Lindy was, even at fourteen, a well-developed girl. On this evening, she was wearing a short cotton sundress in yellow, and was barefoot. She had a beautiful, symmetrical face, with lips that were made to be kissed. So, leaving aside our close relationship, her looks alone were quite enough to hold an old man’s interest.

“What do I do now?” she asked, one hand round my cock shaft.

“Doing is more than just looking, you know,” I said. “If you want to do more than just look, you could try sliding your hand up and down the shaft. Wait a minute, I have something that might help.” I opened the drawer in my bedside cabinet and found a tube of KY. “Here, squeeze a little of this into your hand. It’s very slippery.”

If I’m being truthful, somewhere in my head, a part of my deeply-hidden psyche was expressing the hope that if Lindy did a good job, she might give me a bonus orgasm – one I had not planned to have – so I was not minded to stop her exploration.

But after two of three strokes, Lindy let go. My cock waved in the air, forlornly. She turned to look at me.

“So if I did this enough, would you cum?” she asked.

“Yes,” I gasped.

She nodded thoughtfully. “And this is supposed to fit in my, umm, vagina?” She waved her fingers in the general direction of ‘down there’.

“Well, not this one,” I said, “I expect you’ll find a boy closer to your own age to have your first time with. You are certainly not supposed to have sex with your father.”

“Why not? I mean, they told us that at school, but they didn’t seem clear on why.”

I gave her a potted explanation about genetics, chromosomes and mutations.

“The thing about having two unrelated people making a baby is that it eliminates one possible cause of mutations. Normally, a girl child will inherit an X chromosome from both her father and her mother. If one of them is faulty – say the mother’s has the faulty gene which causes haemophilia – a girl child can use the other X chromosome and not be affected by the fault. Boys, on the other hand, inherit an X chromosome only from their mother, so if the haemophilia fault is present, he has no back-up and will develop the condition.

“If the male and female are closely related, brother, sister, father, mother, uncle, aunt, the chances of a defective gene being passed on to a child are greater. For instance, you are half me, and half your mother. If you and I made a baby, you would pass on 24 chromosomes, 12 of which were from me, and I would pass on 24 chromosomes, so our child would have 36 chromosomes that came from me, and only 12 from you. If I have a defective gene, then there’s a much bigger chance of its being passed on than if I was the traditional pimply youth, fertilising you in the back of his father’s car.”

“Ugh! That sounds so sordid,” Lindy said. She thought for a few seconds. “but if you had no defective genes, a baby we made wouldn’t have a problem?”

“Apart from a strong chance it’d grow up too look like me!”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“The baby might.”

While she chuckled, she looked thoughtful and took my cock in her hand again.

“They said at school that we should only have sex with people we love, and who love us.”

I nodded. “I think that’s good advice.”

“So sex with the pimply youth in the back of his father’s car is not what you’d consider ideal?” she probed.

“That’s correct – unless you loved each other enough to have his baby. But there’s another constraint on getting pregnant – apart from your being underage.”

“What?”

“Babies deserve to be born into stable households, where proper provision has been made to care for them. At your age, you don’t have that. I know I don’t have much say in the matter, but I think you should fall in love, marry and then have children, in that order. I know it’s a bit old-fashioned these days, but it’s a system which has worked for hundreds of years.”

She pouted. “So you don’t think we should have a baby?”

My cock twitched in her hand. I know she felt it, because she glanced down.

“He does, obviously,” she said.

I had one of those ‘road to Damascus’ moments of epiphany. My home was a stable environment, and looking after a baby would be no problem while Lindy was at school and, later, at work. There would be a slightly increased risk of a genetic mutation creeping in, but neither Lindy and I were aware of any such defects in our genetic makeup.

“I suppose he would,” I said slowly. My cock pulsed again in confirmation, and suddenly, cum shot out of the tip and plastered her sundress. Further spurts followed, and we both stared at my prick while it drained my balls.