In his defense, he was drunk.

Coming home from the party, he had to carry his wife into the house from the taxi. He climbed the stairs with her and put her in bed, shut the door and the lights.

He yawned and stretched and as the room spun, held his stomach. Then he went back downstairs to find something for his stomach.

It had been one of those over the top office parties, and he and his wife had gotten drunker than they’d been since college.

He so drunk he didn’t really know how to react when he walked into the living room and saw his fifteen-year-old daughter sprawled out on the couch, the liquor cabinet open and a bottle of blackberry brandy and another of vodka open on the table.

He didn’t want to yell or grab her, not while he was so drunk he could hardly stand. He didn’t want to lose control, but he had to do something.

He shook his head, and he tried to find his balance. He decided to take some deep, sobering breaths. He cleaned up the spilled liquor and collected the various juices, sodas and other mixers she was apparently using to make what was obviously her first attempt at drinking alcohol somewhat potable.

Then he sighed and sat down next to her curled up body on the couch. He remembered sneaking drinks for his father’s cabinet when he was her age.

“Silly little thing,” he whispered, brushing her hair away from her sleeping face.

His hand rested on her bare leg, and he nearly jumped at how hot and smooth her skin was. He didn’t even know that she shaved her legs. Those were things her mother dealt with. He chuckled to himself. Did his little girl already shaving her legs? Her skin was pale and flawless. He was hypnotized by how smooth it was; how perfect it was.

She wore the rainbow knee high socks he remembered buying her at the mall one Saturday afternoon. A little skirt, the one he had started giving her a hard time about wearing. She wore a simple white cotton sleeveless t-shirt, which she often liked to sleep in. He didn’t even realize, as he looked over his unconscious daughter, that his hand was now on her thigh.

Guilt made his heart ache a little. He felt his face go a little cold. Still, he was tipsy, nothing wrong with touching his daughter’s leg anyhow. And it was so soft.

“Piglet?” he said, pushing her leg a little.

She didn’t stir a bit.

“Wake up!” he said a little louder, but she didn’t do anything but let out a little snore.

His hand moved back to her thigh, fingers just under her loose skirt. He heart was racing now. He moved it farther up, letting his arm push her skirt up. She was drunk and passed out. No one would ever know. She was his little girl, and every year she became more beautiful. And for every ounce of love and protectiveness he had for her, there was just a little tiny dark thought in the back of his mind.

He wondered how far up she shaved. His hand was bolder, moving up farther until his fingers brushed the bottom of her panties. He was hard, his breathing heavier.

“Piglet can you hear me?” he said, tracing the elastic leg-band of her underwear, but she didn’t stir.

He looked around. He knew she was passed out and probably still very drunk. His mind raced. He just wanted a little bit of her. He needed it. Just to see. Just to sate a little bit of those dark hungers he sometimes felt, when he watched her, when she sat on his lap, when she passed him in nothing but a towel in the morning.

And his head was still spinning from all that whiskey. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t at least see her. She was his little girl.

He reached his other hand up and took her panties in both hands and pulled them down to her knees. He paused, his heart now pounding in his ears, seeing if she woke up at all; nothing. He pulled them off and dropped them; they were tiny red cotton panties with little heart patterns. He was so close to doing something so wrong.

He pushed up her skirt quickly, but gently, pushed it all the way up and saw that she’d shaved everything off. He was hypnotized by the hairless little triangle between her legs. Want was rising in him like nothing he’d ever felt. His face and ears were burning red.

He parted her thin legs very gently and saw her little slit, barely opened, pink and perfect. His body was taking over. His guilt was being beaten down by need.

He leaned down and kissed just above the slit. She smelled clean and fresh, like the little girl who kissed him good morning. His tongue slipped down, finding the very edge of where her little lips split. He let the wetness of his tongue spread and found the little curves and soft lines of her little pussy.

A low moan came from his chest. All those little moments of dark lust were finally coming to fruition. The monster inside of him was finally getting what it wanted.

He licked more, opening her legs further and looking at the pinkness of her, the inner lips, finding where her little clit was, then the tiny opening. His tongue explored every part, finally slipping a little way into the tightness of her, not finding the obstruction of virginity he expected. Logic had left though. All that existed was her warm little body in his hands.

He cradled her butt in his palms and held her sex up to his mouth his tongue finding a light musky wetness; her wetness. His finger could barely fit inside of her when he sucked it and then slipped into his little daughter. He watched her face as he penetrated her for the first time with his finger. Her eyes were moving under their lids. He knew that meant she was dreaming. This was all a dream.