There really is no start to this story because my dad was just always there, for as far back as I could remember.

He was the one I’d run to when I skinned a knee or grazed an elbow. He would wrap me up in his big, strong arms and cuddle me until the tears stopped flowing, and then he would tend to whatever minor catastrophe had befallen me.

He was so gentle and patient. I loved it best when he would pick me up with an arm under my knees and the other around my back and hold me against his lovely broad chest curled up in a little ball, with my face buried in his neck. I could have happily lain in his arms for hours like that, breathing in his wonderful manly scent.

Apparently, therapists often ask patients to go to their happy place. My happy place has never been in any doubt in my mind: being held like that and cuddled by my dad.

I loved Mom too of course but she was, and is, more practical and down-to-earth than Dad. When I ran to her, she would chide me for my tears and attend to my ailments quickly and effectively, if sometimes a bit painfully.

I confess I sometimes exaggerated my hurts, or even made them up, just so I could have a little time blissed out in his embrace.

He must have thought me a very clumsy child but he never complained. I think maybe he loved tending to me as much as I enjoyed his attentions.

Those happy days of childhood seemed to stretch on forever with endless sunny days.

Some of my happiest memories were when we would go to a beach cottage on Cape Cod that was owned by Dad’s uncle. It was only small: a basic kitchen, living area, and two bedrooms made up the house, and there was a deck outside.

It also had one of those outdoor enclosed outdoor showers. We always rinsed the sand and salt off when we returned from the beach. Many times my dad and I would shower together, taking our suits off to get rinsed. It was one of the only times I saw him nude. It probably went on longer than it should have, until I was ten or eleven I think.

At first, showering together seemed the most natural thing in the world. Of course, I peeked, fascinated by the differences in our bodies. His thingy seemed huge to me at the time and I remember being puzzled why he needed that to pee through and I didn’t.

I think it was when I was about twelve that Mom gave me ‘The Talk’. I worried at first that it was going to be horribly embarrassing, but her no-nonsense approach actually made it quite fascinating.

She explained what was happening to my body and why. When I had trouble grasping some aspects she showed me pictures in a big medical book, which were really interesting. There was all sorts of stuff inside my body that I knew nothing about, but it was the diagram of a man that really caught my attention.

It turned out that Dad’s thingy was called a penis and his balls were testes. I snuck back many times to look at those diagrams and to try and make sense of the complicated text that went with them.

By the time I was fourteen, my body had changed a lot. I had boobs for a start. OK, they were small with puffy nipples but I had to wear a bra. I also had hair down there. Not a lot yet but it was dark like my mom’s and clearly visible. Part of me was a bit self-conscious about Dad seeing me, and part of me wanted him to see that I wasn’t a little girl anymore. It gave me a little tingle just to think about it.

I loved the beach: playing in the waves, feeling the warm sun on my skin, digging in the sand. I loved it all. My dad would sit next to me reading a book, lost in his own world. As she often did, Mom stayed at the cottage and read sitting out on the deck.

The thought that kept swirling through my head was what would happen when we went back to the cottage. As the sun started to go down I was actually trembling a little I’d gotten myself so worked up.

Finally, Dad called time and I was quiet as we made the short walk to the cottage. I figured I’d just do whatever Dad said. As we walked up the driveway, I felt a little jolt of excitement when he said, “We’d better rinse off before going inside.”

Dad got the shower going and I slipped my wet suit off with my back to him, knowing he would be able to see my bottom making me tremble. As I turned around, I saw his eyes go first to my breasts, and then down to my pussy. I adored the way that he looked at me, and the tingling in my pussy made me feel weak at the knees.

“Spin around, Elaina, and I’ll wash your hair,” he said, pushing his own costume down to his knees as I did what he asked.

I loved the feel of his hands running through my hair. I closed my eyes at the sheer pleasure of it and then stumbled back towards him. That was when something touched my bottom. I thought that it must be his penis, but it was hard!

I backed up a little more and then it was resting between the cheeks of my fanny, and I could feel how warm and big it was, much bigger than when I’d seen it before. As Dad washed my hair I wriggled gently against it and it felt so, so nice. The little tingle became much, much bigger and my heart was pattering like mad with my excitement.

“You’re all clean now, baby. Off you go,” Dad said to me, and his voice sounded all funny. I was devastated and I tried to turn around, but he held me gently, but firmly, by the shoulders and eased me out of the shower door, handing me a towel as I left.

“I’ll be along in a minute,” he called after me.

I lay in bed that night and ran my fingers over my bottom trying to make them feel like his penis had. Not happy with the sensation I slipped off my panties and tried again. That was much better, and, with my hand between my legs, I ran my finger between my cheeks, closing my eyes and imagining it was him.

I was shivering, but not from the cold, from the excitement. The rest of my hand was rubbing over my pussy and that felt sooo nice. For the first time I could remember I felt ... wet inside.

Now, in my mind, it was his finger stroking me, his finger dipping inside me and finding a slipperiness that felt so good that it made my head spin. As I pushed more of my finger up inside, I imagined it was his penis, and I could hardly breathe. The orgasm, when it hit, filled me with joy and wonder. It was my first ever, and my thoughts had been only of Dad.

It may have been my first orgasm fantasizing about him, but it was far, far from the last.

Nothing was said between us but, when we came back from the beach the next time, he stopped outside the shower.

“You’re getting to be a big girl now Elaina,” Dad said, “and I think maybe you should shower first ... on your own.”

I felt my face crumple up and I was so, so sad. Dad bent down and kissed me softly on the lips.

“It’s alright baby, nothing’s wrong. It’s for the best, you just need to trust me on this. OK, honey?”

It wasn’t OK. I hated it. But I did trust him. So, very reluctantly, I did as he asked.

The next summer we went to the beach cottage again and I still loved it, but not showering with Dad broke my heart a little each time. I thought I understood what had happened that last time, but I didn’t truly understand the why of it until much later.

In my young mind, Dad had stopped because he didn’t like me enough. I desperately wanted to see his penis as it had been when I felt it between my cheeks that day. Thinking about it made my pussy throb, and I believed that if I could just make him feel like that again maybe, just maybe, he’d let me shower with him again.

The next day I wore an old swimsuit that was too small for me so that it showed off the shape of my pussy really clearly. It also rode right up into the crack of my bottom hopefully reminding him of what he’d felt that day.

I was fairly sure he watched me, even when he appeared to be reading, and sometimes I thought I could see a swelling in his shorts that made me long to feel it touch my body again. But when we went to the shower, even though I was sure that I could see a bulge in his costume, he said that I should go first.

When I got a little older, I thought his reluctance was because my body had been too immature for him back then, and I checked my physical development carefully, delighting in each sign of growth of my breasts or hints of a womanly shapeliness.

The following year I showed off my body to him as much as I dared. Just his eyes on me would make me feel incredibly excited and I couldn’t stop imagining how his penis would feel if he would only push it deep inside my desperately eager pussy.

But again he sent me into the shower alone, and often it was my tears that were washed away along with the sand and the salt.

Back home, not too long after, I was watching TV with just Mom. It was a film and there was a sex scene. I felt my face become very hot as it became obvious that the woman was sucking the man’s penis.

It wasn’t something that I’d thought of before, but, now I did, the idea of licking and kissing Dad’s cock made me giddy with excitement. Suddenly, out of the blue, Mom told me that she didn’t like to give oral and didn’t normally do it for my dad. As I’ve said, she was very straight talking, but, if he wasn’t getting it from my mom ... My young mind was ablaze with possibilities and suddenly my fantasies had a whole new avenue to explore.

One day, when I was seventeen, I looked at myself and knew that I could in no way be mistaken for a little girl anymore. ‘Surely if he could see me now he would want me’ I thought.

Mom announced over breakfast the next morning that she was going into town shopping and asked if I wanted to go. I told her I wasn’t in the mood, but inside I was thrilled: the morning alone with Dad!

I went to the bathroom after she’d set off and ‘forgot’ my robe. After showering I wrapped a small towel around myself, tucking it in just above my nipples. It only just came down far enough to cover my pussy and my ass.

I practiced a few times until I had it just right: if I took tiny breaths the towel would stay in place, but if I took a deep breath it would come undone. I waited until I heard him coming along the corridor then I stepped out.

“Morning Dad,” I said brightly as he came towards me. Then I breathed in. It worked rather too well and I only caught the towel when it was down around my knees.

As I scrabbled around trying to cover myself, he stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes were like saucers. The thrill of him looking at me naked again was intense and I was sure he got a good long look at ... well everything.

Then I turned and fled into my bedroom, checking over my shoulder that he was still watching my ass as I went, which he absolutely definitely was!

I leaned against the closed door with my heart racing. It was the first time he’d seen me naked as a woman and I waited for a knock on the door, or some sign that he wanted me in the way I longed for him. I stood there, mostly naked, with my pussy pulsing and ready for him, for what seemed like ages. There was no knock. Then the tears began.

Dad’s uncle died suddenly that winter and the cottage passed to his son, Chris, who mostly used it as a rental property. I don’t think he offered it to us like his dad had done, and my dad was too proud to ask. It looked awfully like our summers there were over.

I finally began to accept that the feelings that I had for my dad were probably never going to be satisfied.

I dated a string of guys, rejecting them fairly quickly as they failed to live up to my dad’s high standards. Some of them were nice, and some not so much, but none of them made me feel the same way that he did.

I’m a bit ashamed to admit that, even while I was dating them, I sometimes imagined that it was Dad touching and kissing and fucking me, and that I was licking and sucking that beautiful penis of his. I felt ashamed afterward, but the orgasms I had were so intense that I often couldn’t resist it.

When Dad called me and said we had what could be the last ever chance to stay at the cottage I accepted without a moment’s thought. He explained that, what with the Covid outbreak, several renters had canceled and Chris had offered it to us.