Daddy’s girl.

Hi, my name’s Dave, what my second name is, or even isn’t, is neither germane to this story nor any of your business, so here I am, Dave, Just Dave, except to my mother, to whom I have always been and will always be David. I’m the oldest of three children at forty-eight, my two younger siblings are Amanda, Mandy to her friends and Rebecca, Becky to hers. The girls are thirty-six and thirty-four, respectively.

In addition to two parents, one deceased and four grandparents, all deceased, there’s something else we have in common. We’re all single parents. Of course, we didn’t start off like that, we were all married when we became parents, although in Amanda’s case it was only just, we ended up like that after a series of unfortunate incidents. Firstly, I regained my single status, when I discovered that my wife Sarah was making the beast with two backs with her boss at work. She left me for him, but he decided that he didn’t want our daughter Mary living with them, so the divorce order was altered to give me primary custody of her. Despite the efforts of both my sisters and most of my friends, I had managed to maintain that status ever since. Although I’ll admit I’d had a good deal of fun test-driving their candidates for the last twelve years.

Becky was the second to regain her status, her husband was thoroughly convinced that it was perfectly safe to spend the night in the pub, twelve miles from home, drink ten pints of beer, two whisky chasers and then drive home. Apparently, there was a tree on the way home that disagreed with him. I do remember my sister not shedding a huge number of tears when the police knocked on her door at one-thirty in the morning with the news that she was a widow. That was eight years ago. Then three years ago Mandy’s husband decided that he would be happier with someone younger, unfortunately in this case she was much younger, so much so that when he ran away with her, he was sentenced to fourteen years in jail for having sex with a fourteen-year-old. It seems that neither the judge not the jury were impressed with his claim that she told him she was twenty-one. Neither were his inmates, one or more of them, no-one ever found out who or how many, beat him to death in the showers when the prison officer in charge over overseeing him had to go and take care of a sudden bout of Diarrhoea.

So here we were, one man, two women and five teenage girls. All family. I was pretty successful, leading a computer services company with a nine-figure turnover, so I was well set up. Mary, my daughter and I lived in a large, detached house with seven bedrooms, five bathrooms and a huge back garden, with the obligatory swimming pool, Jacuzzi, barbecue on the patio and a small cabin down at the end containing a sauna. I did like a sauna.

I was in there cleaning it, it was Friday evening and the six girls were coming over to spend Saturday, since it was my birthday and I knew that at some time during the day, they’d all want to end up in there. I only had one rule, my sisters were allowed in there sans costumes, with me, but if any of the five younger women, I couldn’t call them kids any more, wanted to go au naturel, then it had to be without me present.

I’d told them all that they could invite a guest along as well, just in case any of them had a ‘friend’ they were cultivating, but the same rules would apply. No naked men in there with the younger women.

I was just finishing up when I noticed the cabin was getting warmer, someone, who must have been Mary, had turned it on ready to use it.

I gathered up the cleaning materials and walked out of the sauna chamber and through into the changing area outside it. And stopped dead.

My daughter stood there, naked as I walked out.

“Oh, hi Dad,” she said, “I didn’t know you were in there. I thought I’d have a quick Sauna before I went out.”

“Well, I just finished cleaning it, so give it a wipe over when you’ve finished, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she replied.

I started for the door.

“Dad,” she said, “why don’t you stay and come in with me?”

“Because my shorts are up in the house.”

“So, come in with your boxers on,” she said, “they don’t show any more of you than your swim shorts do.”

“All right, but where’s your costume?”

“Up in my bedroom,” she said, “but, Dad, you’ve seen all there is to see, apart from the back view,” she did a slow twirl, “and now you’ve seen that as well. There doesn’t seem to be much point putting it away now. Come on Dad, I’m twenty years old, not a little girl anymore. I’m an adult and I consent, wholly and voluntarily, to be naked with my father in the sauna.”

“All right,” I said, “but it’s against my better judgement.”

“And, Dad, it’s all right for you to get naked too, it’s not like I’ve never seen a penis before.”

I gave her the daddy glare at that remark.

“Relax dad, my hymen is intact, but I’ve had boyfriends and it’s really impolite to let them spend money on you all night and then make then go home with blue balls, so I’ve given boys hand relief, even given a couple of them blowjobs, but I don’t swallow.”

“I think that may be just a little on the side of TMI, darling,” I said.

“Sorry, Dad, but you always said I could talk to you about anything.”

“I think, I’d probably draw the line at details of your sexual activities.”

“All right, sorry. Dad,” she said, “can I talk to you about sex in general?”

“Of course, you can.”

There was a little chirp to tell us that the sauna was up to temperature.

“I think we’re ready,” she said, “you’d better strip off. You won’t feel the benefit with all those clothes on.”

I wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable, but I stripped down to my boxers and allowed her to take my hand and lead her into the cabin.

Once we were inside, Mary sat herself on the top layer of seating while I poured a ladle of water over the hot stones and took a seat on the lower layer.

“Come and sit up here, dad,” she said softly, “I can’t talk to the back of your head.”

I shifted up and sat on the upper bench, leaving a gap of over a foot between us, which she promptly closed by shuffling over to me.

“That’s better,” she said, “I can talk to you now.”

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked.

“Sex,” she said, “Dad, I did the sex education a class at school and I’ve fooled about a bit with boys, but I’ve got nobody I can talk to about what it’s really all about. Except you.”

“What about what it’s all about?”

“Well, for a start, blowjobs. What constitutes a good blowjob?”

“Well, it’s often said that there’s no such thing as a bad one.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that, but what is a good one?”

“One that leaves your partner feeling good and satisfied, the trick is to listen to him, or her, as you’re doing it and do more of what they like and less of anything they don’t seem to appreciate. For example, some men like you to nibble gently with your teeth on then, but others hate that. I suppose you’ve tried that?”

“No, they always say no teeth, they don’t want to get bitten.”

“Dad,” she said, “I want to ask you something, but I don’t want you to get mad.”

“What makes you think I’d get mad?”

“Well, could I practice on you?”

“What?” I asked, incredulous.

“You know, could I practice giving you blowjobs, then you could tell me what I’m doing right, or wrong, or how I can improve? Please, Dad.”

My brain said no, my mouth almost shouted no, but there was a part of me that was screaming, ‘Yes, please’.

My mind was racing, I’m her father, it would be utterly wrong. The other side of my mind was shouting, come on, you’re a man she’s a beautiful, young and willing woman, it’s only going in her mouth, she can’t get pregnant from that.

“Oh look,” she said, gazing down at my lap, where the traitorous part was now poking through the gap in the front of my boxers, “one part of you wants me to.”