"Is that all you are going to do this summer?" I couldn't but ask my nineteen-year old daughter as she started to squat down for what had become a daily diet of yoga. It is not that I have anything against the practice - but to see my daughter sitting cross-legged, with those long, tanned legs wearing just the tightest of shorts and a shirt with the top three buttons undone to allow me peeks of the elastic band of her bra... it evokes feelings that are not exactly yoga-solvable.

On this day, instead of the usual three, four buttons were undone. I could see the creamy sides of my daughter's breasts.

"Daddy!" my daughter chided, pulling one leg over the other. "It's not a waste of time... besides, it helps me to relax and let go of all the sexual tensions in my body."

Don't get shocked - Amy and I are pretty close for a father and his daughter. She is nineteen, I am thirty-eight. My wife is a sales rep in the city, and her work takes her away from the house from seven to seven. Fine by me, because I like to ogle my daughter as she prances around in the briefest of swimsuits and summer-dresses. Amy likes the attention I give her scantily-clad body, and although we haven't been overt about it, there was a liberated air between us.

Which was probably why sex was not such a taboo subject between us. Even though my daughter must have realized that I am aware of her sexuality, she never loses an opportunity to press the point. It was only a month ago that I hit upon the idea of reciprocating her - at one time or the other, after a particularly risque remark or another, I would catch my crotch and pretend to adjust the hard-on.

In reality, though, I was just drawing her attention to my erection.

So on this day, when she makes this crack about being sexually frustrated, I rub a hand against my crotch - 'surreptitiously,' of course. I saw her eyes dart down to my region, taking in the sight of the tent that had been put up as soon as she had swaggered into the room, and smiling at me as she realized that I had caught her looking at me.

Just some harmless flirting, I could say. Honestly, I wouldn't.

"Sexual release, huh? Whoa! That's a big problem!" I pretended to be serious about the whole thing, rubbing my jaw and looking upwards, in the manner of one who is trying to recall the past. "In my youth, there was a very effective - and simple solution - for the nemesis you mentioned."

She sprang to the bait. "Oh yeah? And what's it called?"

"It's too simple, actually. It's more a technique for girls - sorry, ladies - women, if you will - just because women have a higher strike rate with it."

"Sounds good - what is it?" She smiled mischievously at me.

"Humph!" I grunted theatrically. "Some father - I am actually instructing you on sexual releases... wait till the guys at the pub hear of this."

"Don't you dare mention this to anyone at the - waitaminute, you don't go to any pub!"

I grinned at her. "Too bad - think I will start one of these days."

"Yeah! And you can stand outside until you get the stench of rum off your body. Ugh - but the technique, please, Daddy dear?" She batted those baby-blue eyes at me.

"Point taken. As for the technique... it's too simple really. I am almost ashamed that I have to mention it -"

"Cut the crap and say it. Please."

"Awright, awright, you impatient minx. The secret's simple. Just... GET LAID!" I all but shouted at the top of my voice. Since the nearest neighbor was over fifty meters away, I was safe.

The pillow missed me by a mile, crashing instead into the crystal jar of sugar atop the dinner table, and the resounding crash brought my daughter to her feet.

"Look what you did," she threw at me accusingly. But she was smiling.

"ME? I did it? It was your throw - you oughta pitch for the Yankees, you know... couldn't hit the side of a barn with a rocket!"

"Well, you made me throw it at you, didn't ya?" She stuck her tongue out at me, but I wasn't about to her licked. Metaphorically, of course.

"Really? I am sure your yoga Guru would only be too pleased to learn that you seem to think of it as sex."

She tried to think up a suitable retort, but having found none, she took the next course of best result. She broke into laughter. "God, how I wish I had inherited your tongue!"

"That would have been confusing - I mean, what would be your 'mother'tongue then?" I can see some of you roll your eyes at my joke, but hey, if it tickled Amy, that's all that matters. She had another fit of laughter.

"I'll clean it up later, Daddy," she promised between gasps. "Right now, I need to get some of the jelly out of my pussy."

"Ummm! I love jelly."

She shot me an amused look. For a second, I had bitten hard on my tongue - this was the most suggestive of remarks I had ever told her, and hell, even a stranger would have slapped me all over the town for my comment. I probably deserved a couple of blows to my ass anyway.

"It's not the kind you can scoop up with a spoon and eat, Daddy. Besides, the taste should be entirely different - but I am sure you must be aware of that."

If she was referring to my sex-life with my wife, I had to set the record straight. "Actually, honey, it's been so long since I had some that I thought they had unified the taste."

"Very funny, Dad, but I could swear I heard a lot of grunting a couple of nights ago in your bedroom."

"That was just your father," I waved a hand as a sign of dismissal, "Having sex with his hand. Your mother was making love to a sleeping pill at the time."

Okay, so this was not an everyday conversation in our household, but I am sure you got an idea of the kind of casualness that my daughter and I exercised in our relationship.

"Oops! My mistake," my daughter said, a sly smile on her face.

"Anyway," I changed the subject. "What's the problem, hun? I mean, what's a girl as sexy as you doing looking elsewhere for some relief, as you call it? I am disillusioned - I was under the impression that all you had to do to get some cock was just a whistle and voila! a slew of boys to choose from."

"If there was a compliment in there for me somewhere, Daddy, thanks! Unfortunately, it's not as open and shut as you think it is."

"You'll have to elaborate on that."

She paused, apparently deliberating the response - if one was forthcoming at all. Finally, she began. "My period is just a couple of days away, for one thing. I know, there are the pills, but I ran out of them a week back - the local drugstore expects the next batch only by Monday. So right now, I am as fertile - read unsafe - as I've ever been in my life."

"You could buy them from the city - "

"Drive all the way and back - no gas, Daddy. It's too hot to go anywhere. Besides, I can't always look for a man when I need to let off some heat... in the long run, I don't suppose it would work."

"You are right - in the long run, no. But what you are telling me now is that yoga gives you the same feeling as being knackered?"

"Certain positions only, Daddy, and it's more a matter of perspective than by design. What is sexual to me doesn't need to be so to you too."

"Hogwash!" I retorted.

"No, it is not. In any case, I suppose you've got a better plan?"

Wheels turned; the projected output was mapped out. Seductions had been my specialty back in college - as my wife could easily testify - and I was confident I hadn't lost my touch. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Her eyes sparkled; Phase one, vis her undivided attention, was a success. "Well, go on. We don't keep secrets from each other, do we? Dahling?" She rolled the last word over her tongue, making it appear more sultry than it was proper.

I picked a seat across from her, and made myself comfortable before even looking at her again. Her curiosity was building, I knew it, and I needed to raise it to a crescendo if I was to succeed. A crest, a trough and a crest - the geometrical representation of man's greatest weakness, his curiosity. If I remember correctly, it was curiosity that killed the pussy!

"Massage. A slow, sensuous massage. Does the trick every time."

Her eyes conveyed her disappointment mixed with a larger dose of disbelief. She thought I was joking. The peaked anticipation dropped down. She was going down the trough.

"You don't believe me, I see," I said simply.

"Of course I don't. Sheesh! I thought you were going to let me in on a great secret - damn, even yoga sounds far more satisfying than that!"

"Is it a bet?" I countered. Amy could never resist the excitement of a challenge, especially when she felt so strongly that she would win. "Want to put your body where the mouth is?"

She stared at me long and hard, apparently waiting for a punchline or a hint of a smile that would tell her I was joking. I fixed her eyes with a level gaze, driving away all doubts from her mind. It took her all of a minute to nod her acquiescence. "And the keep?"

"That whatever we agree upon as the better way, both of us accept it."

"You mean, if I prove to you that yoga is better, you will join me at it?"

"Yes. And if I prove to you - as doubtless I will - that a massage delivered by trained hands is the better choice, then you should always opt for a massage when you want some sexual release."

"Deal. But how do we go about it?"

Here was the clincher, the punchline she had been expecting. Make or break, this was the statement that would do it. "Simple. First, we do it your way. Then we do it my way. Then we compare notes."

She gave me another amused look. "Simple, huh? Why do you always have to oversimplify things?"

"Why do you have to overcomplicate things?"

"Ouch! Point taken, my dear father. So when do we start?"

"How 'bout right now? All you gotta do is instruct me on the best _asana_ in your opinion for this sort of thing. Anything yogistic goes."

"Anything, huh? What about nudity?"

I managed to keep my voice steady. "Nudity? I don't care. Go the length, girl. Whatever you think necessary."

Amy stood up; her eyes had a naughty sparkle in them, her head that tilt I have come to recognize as one that precedes her laying the hook on me. She caught the hem of her shirt and lifted it up towards the height of her hips. "You sure you can handle it, old man?" she teased.

"I am sure I can. In my days, I have seen quite a few knockouts - I don't suppose you have anything new to offer." I said this as baitingly as I dared.

"You are right. Nothing new on this bod - just a couple of tits, a shaved bush. A pierced navel. Yup, just the same old stuff, right Daddy?"

With a single heft, the shirt was thrown off. Amy turned her back on me, and reached behind for the clasp of her bra. Before I knew it, I had offered my assistance. She accepted.

I stood up and walked over to her. The rear view of her body was very very nice - a nice buttock covered by shorts that were too tight to leave anything to imagination, with the slight hint of the panty-line - it was a tan-line, actually - visible at the hem of the shorts. The back of her tanned legs was no more inferior to her front.

Amy dropped her arms to her sides as my hands touched her shoulder. I allowed myself the luxury of moving down her back down to the strap of her bra. A single press, and it clicked open. Amy hunched her shoulders forward and slid the bra off. It fell at her feet.

Amy did not say anything until I had reached the hem of her shorts, and then she moved away, directing me that it was my 'turn' now. I sighed loudly, inducing a giggle from my daughter, and unbuttoned my shirt, throwing it on top of her bra.

Amy wiggled out of her shorts at almost the same instant that I got rid of my damn boxers, and I couldn't help but get distracted by the way her panties were pulled taut into the crack of her beautiful ass. At the proximity that I was in, it wasn't too difficult to make out the outline of her pussy lips against the material. I strained my head forward to see if I could get a better glimpse -

I needn't have bothered, though, for with far greater nonchalance than I thought a girl getting naked in front of her father could assume, she pulled the cotton panties down her legs... then free of her legs. She still hadn't turned around, but had her legs placed further apart now. Her cuntal lips were being paraded for me.

"Finished?" she asked. I hastily pulled down my underwear, and dear old Rocky sprang out as if he had never been erect before in his entire life. It was all I could do not to ram the old fool into her exposed ass.

Amy turned around, and like the old pervert that I was, I allowed myself to gape at her firm structure. None of my fantasies had come even close in defining her nubile body, with those unfairly firm breasts topped with nipples a man in a lesser position would have insulted by calling 'cherries.' The deep valley between the twin mounds pointed down to a shaved patch of blonde pubic hair a couple of days grown, just above the slit that led into her deepest being.

My daughter allowed me around fifteen seconds of ogling time at her body, raising her arms to the back of the head causing her tits to jut out even more. For an instant, I almost let myself go, for so strong was my desire to envelop my mouth over one of her buds.

"... asana." I caught only that last syllable of her sentence.

"Pardon?"

"I said, we could do mrityaasana," my daughter repeated, clearly quite pleased with the way the sight of 'yet another knockout' body was affecting me. "The pose of the dead."

I tore my eyes away from the rest of her body, and managed to meet hers. "What are you, necrophilic?"

She laughed. "No. Mrityaasana is a position of maximum inactivity - physical, that is. You lie flat out like a dead body; then you allow your breathing to recede to deep intakes. Here, let me show you - lie on your back, arms by your sides... and can't you put that thing away?"

I grinned. I suppose I could have passed for a dead body if it had not been for the boner that was pointing straight upwards. Amy had referred to it as the 'thing,' and I replied that I couldn't put it away. Her hand brushed against my erection as she ensured that I was, indeed, in the proper position.

Then she laid down beside me, so close that I could hear her breathing. Our naked bodies were barely an inch away, and suddenly, I was attacked by a desire to take her then and there. Thankfully, though, the pragmatic self took control. Just a little while longer, I told myself.

I waited with my eyes closed until I heard her breathing take a steady rhythm. Convinced that she was in enough of a trance to be dead to the world, I pulled myself up so that I was resting my head on the palm of my hand. I was now sideways, looking from a small elevation at the nude expanse of my daughter.

If there was any difference, it was the state of her arousal. Flushed skin, erect and darker nipples - you make the conclusion. Once again, there was that dryness in my throat, a sudden desire to take her tit into my mouth and suck it dry. To take her nipples and bite them until she begged me to stop. To make her cry so hard and so loud it would be heard in the next county.