Chapter 1

I never saw my daughter as a sex object until the day she showed up at my monthly poker party. It changed the way I perceived her, and it certainly has had quite an affect on our relationship.

Wait, I should probably give some background first. I work at a fairly large international shipping company. My job title is officially "International Shipping Manager." That's just a fancy way of saying that I manage the warehouse crew that collects, sorts and ships packages overseas. If you're sending something overnight overseas from the West Coast, chances are the package probably gets routed through our warehouse. It's a pretty good job — I get to interact with the guys out in the warehouse as well as the suits in the office. The pay is fantastic, and I have been able to provide well for my family.

One of my hobbies if playing poker. Unlike many other guys who have started playing after watching the various tournaments on television, I've been playing for quite a long time. Several of my co-workers, including my boss Ted, join me in a monthly Friday night poker game. We rotate the game among our respective houses and, while we don't play for a ton of money, we all love to get together and enjoy cigars, drinking, and the cards. Usually there are six of us who play, including me and Ted. The four other guys from the office include John and Neil, both corporate suits who manage accounting and finance for Ted, and Castro and Marcus, two black guys from the warehouse who decided that wanted to become poker stars after watching poker tournaments on ESPN. Ted likes to tout the group as proof of his "melting pot" attitude toward the workplace. I guess it's not often that two blue collar black guys, a middle manager like me, and three white collar suits like to spend time together after work. In any event, we're all pretty good poker players and all enjoy whiskey and good cigars.

Last month it was my turn to host the poker game. Whenever the game is at my house my wife takes off for my in-laws' place, preferring to get the hell out of dodge rather than spend the night in a house full of drunk poker players. Normally, she takes my 16 year old daughter, Lisa, with her. In fact, I don't think I've ever hosted a poker night at my house with Lisa or my wife around. Last month, however, Lisa had a high school volleyball game scheduled for the Saturday after my poker night, so I reluctantly agreed to let her stay at the house while we played. I knew she would probably be going out with her friends for at least part of the night, so I figured it wouldn't be a problem. She just rolled her eyes at me when I insisted that she go straight to her room if we were still playing when she got home and said, "No problem, Dad. Sheesh. Like I want to hang around a bunch of old shipping geezers anyway."

I guess now is the time when I should tell you a bit about Lisa. She just turned 16 and is a sophomore in high school. She's generally a good kid, although she can be a pain in the ass sometimes, like any teenager. At 5'6" and 110 pounds, she looks like the girl next door when she wears baggy sweats and GAP clothing. However, when she decides to tart it up (which she does regularly, it seems), she certainly can turn her look a dime, not to mention the head of every guy within sight distance. She's always been cute, but I'd be lying if I hadn't noticed how fast she's developed over the last two or three years. I shudder to think what thoughts her 34C-22-32 frame put into the heads of the boys at her school. Hell, I shudder to think what thoughts the male teachers have of her. She's about 5'6 and weighs 110 pounds (I know, I saw her physical paperwork for the volleyball team). Lately, I've really started to notice the attention she gets from men. Whenever were out to dinner or at the mall, I always see men checking her out, taking in her tight teen body and fucking her with their eyes. At first I felt like punching them, but then I realized that I do the same thing with Lisa's friends when they come over to our house. Let's face it — the 16 year olds of today dress and act a lot different than the 16 year olds of twenty years ago. At least the 16 year old girls that I was around in high school.

Last week, while I was looking for a shirt to wear for work, she suddenly appeared in the laundry room wearing only a half t-shirt and a thong. It literally took my breath away when she bent over to get a pair of sweat pants out of the dryer. I can rarely use the adjective "glorious," but that's the only word that I can use to accurately describe Lisa's ass. It is, quite simply, to die for — even as her father I have to admit that, as much as it makes me feel like a perv for doing so.

My wife and I have been fighting the battles that every parent of a teenage girl faces in today's age — namely the undeclared war against the sluttiest and skimpiest outfits that she and her teenage friends can find. Sometimes I feel like a prude, and usually I let my wife handle these issues, but some of the outfits Lisa wears make the outfits at the local strip club seem tame. Don't even get me started on the "whale-tail" thong outside the pants look. My wife and I lost that battle two years ago. Besides, even if I make her tuck her thong inside her insanely tight jeans, I know the minute she gets to the mall it's going to be riding up on her hips again. I've learned to pick my battles, suffice it to say.

On Friday afternoon, my wife left for her parent's cottage. At about 7 p.m., before my poker buddies arrived at the house, my daughter left to go the movies with her friends. I highly doubted that she actually went to a movie, but that's the story she gave to me before she left. When she came downstairs from her room to leave, I gave her a disapproving look when I saw the outfit she was wearing. She had on an unbuttoned jean jacket over a tight fitting, long-sleeve, white fishnet top. Underneath the fishnet, which was essentially completely see thru, she wore a black Victoria Secret push up bra that totally accentuated her teenage tits. You know, the shiny satin kind that pushes the breasts up and together. Below the waist, she had on a pleated denim miniskirt and a pair of black and white striped, thigh-high leggings. Of course, in what had become her typical routine, her pink thong straps rode up high on her hips. When she saw me in the living room as she came down the stairs from her bedroom, she hurriedly tried to button up her jean jacket to cover her bra-covered tits. I cleared my throat and said, "You can't possibly be wearing that out tonight."

She finished buttoning up her jean jacket, sufficiently covering the fishnet top. Giving me a pouty look she said, "Oh, come on Daddy. I just hadn't finished buttoning up my top. Don't be such a prude. Mom doesn't have a problem with this outfit. She lets me wear it out all the time."

I highly doubted that, but was in no mood to argue with Lisa and cause a scene. I'd been on the losing end of enough of these battles to know that holding my ground would only result in her deciding to stay home to spite me and ruin my poker night. My work buddies were due to arrive at any minute and I didn't want Lisa at the house when they got there, especially in that outfit, so I caved. "Fine. Just make sure you keep that jacket buttoned up."

I knew full well that she'd unbutton the jacket to expose the fishnet top as soon as she got out of the house. A big smile appeared on Lisa's face, the result of my hard work and good orthodontic plan. She pranced up to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, "Thanks, Daddy."

Trying to regain some semblance on fatherly discipline I said, "Make sure you're home by eleven. We should be done playing around then." After another quick kiss on the cheek, she was out the door.

The poker game that Friday night was, on the whole, pretty typical. The guys started arriving at my house around 7:30 p.m., and after shooting the shit and having our first round of drinks and cigars, we started playing at about 8:00 p.m. Two things occurred that were a bit out of the ordinary. First, we drank a little more than usual. We always drink while we are playing, usually beer, but that Friday night Ted brought over two bottles of Woodford Reserve bourbon. The bourbon, combined with our usual beers, made for an eventful (and drunk) night. We were all talking more shit and cursing a lot more than we usually did while we were playing. Secondly, we ended up playing a lot later than we normally do, which undoubtedly had much to do with all the drinking. Normally, we finish up the game before midnight — we all usually have family obligations on the weekend and aren't as young as we used to be. That particular Friday, however, we were still going strong at about 12:00 a.m. I certainly was feeling no pain, and it was obvious that the other guys were certainly enjoying the alcohol. In fact, I was enjoying myself so much that I didn't even notice that Lisa hadn't come home yet — she was an hour past her curfew.

At a little after midnight, I heard a car door slam outside and then heard the front door of the house open. We were playing poker in the kitchen at a large, oval, glass table. From my vantage point, I saw Lisa enter the house. She walked sheepishly into the kitchen, pulling down her mini-skirt to cover herself more in front of my friends. From the looks on the guys' faces, I knew they were enjoying her outfit. It's not often that a 16 year old can cause all conversation at a poker table to cease, but Lisa succeeded. At least her jean jacket was buttoned up. I knew my buddies would give me endless shit if Lisa had walked in with her bra showing through that fishnet top. From the look on her face, she knew she was busted for being late. I was smoking a cigar and pretty much shit-faced. Exhaling from my cigar I said, "Kind of late, aren't you?"

Lisa stayed in the doorway between the kitchen and the entry foyer. "I am soooooo sorry, Daddy! I totally lost track of time. I'm really sorry," she sheepishly responded.

Ted, drunk off his ass, came to Lisa's defense. "Oh, for Christ's sake, cut the kid some slack, Allen. You're lucky she's not off in the backseat of some car for fuck's sake." The other guys at the table erupted in laughter at Ted's comment. Without saying so, I knew he had a point, especially with the outfit she was wearing. I noticed that Castro had taken off his sunglasses, which he always wears at the poker table, and was blatantly staring at Lisa — he clearly was enjoying the miniskirt, leggings, and the visible thong straps. Lisa just giggled at Ted's comment, but then started coughing from all the cigar smoke. The kitchen was filled with it.

Ted beckoned to Lisa, "I know, Lisa, these will kill you. You ever smoke a cigar?"

John and Neil, the two accountant intellectuals, both let out laughing snorts over the innuendo of Ted's question. The sexual nature of the question was not lost on Lisa, who started blushing.

Ted, grinning, removed the cigar from his mouth and said, "Oh, shut the fuck up you two. Bunch of fucking perverts." Then, turning back to Lisa, he held out his cigar and said, "How about it kid, want to try one?"

Now, this was the point in the evening (or morning, as it was now after midnight) where I, as Lisa's father, had the chance to put a stop to things. It would have been a really easy thing to do. All I had to do was to tell Ted to back off and make Lisa to go to her room. In hindsight, I know I really should have stop things. Problem was, I wasn't in my typical straightforward father mode. I was drunk off my ass and, truth be told, a little intrigued about how my daughter was going to handle this situation. Not to mention the fact that the last thing I needed was for Lisa to tell my wife that I had been drunk off my ass and letting her stay out past curfew while she was gone. So, when Lisa looked for guidance on Ted's question I wasn't really thinking clearly, or for that matter, fatherly. Instead I shrugged my shoulders and told Lisa, "Sure, give it try. What the hell."

My daughter left her position in the doorway and walked over to Ted, who was still holding the cigar in his outstretched hand. Looking around the table, I saw that everyone's eyes were on Lisa. To say that the looks were lecherous would be too kind. Castro, never a good bluffer to begin with, was seriously checking Lisa out, biting his tongue between his teeth and nodding his head affirmatively. The other four's eyes remained riveted on Lisa. Stopping at Ted's side, Lisa took the cigar from his big hand. As she put the stogie to her lips, Ted said, "Just suck the smoke in, don't swallow it." Lisa took a tentative puff, exhaled and immediately began coughing. Everyone at the table except me broke out into hollers and applause. Lisa drank the attention in, grinning and laughing.

Ted took his cigar back from Lisa and took a long draw then asked, "You ever play poker, Lisa?"

After quickly looking at me again Lisa responded, "No."

Ted asked, "Would you like to learn how to play?" She shot another quick glance at me, unsure how long I'd let this continue. When I responded by simply downing the last of my glass of bourbon, Lisa gave another toothy grin and said, "Sure." Another round of hoots and applause came from my buddies at the table. I poured myself another glass of bourbon.

Ted patted his lap and motioned for Lisa to sit down on it. "Here," he said, "You can play a few hands with me to learn the game."

Lisa shot another furtive glance at me, but I just leaned my chair back and sipped my bourbon. I was pretty sure that Lisa wouldn't sit on Ted's lap. For starters, Ted's about fifty and not in the best shape of his life. I wouldn't go so far as to call him fat, but he's definitely not a hard body. He's a bit pot-bellied and looks the part of a dirty old man, which at that present moment, he certainly was. So it surprised the hell out of me when Lisa slid onto his lap, straddling his left leg.

So there we all were at the table, Ted, with Lisa on his lap, and Castro to Ted's left, immediately next to Lisa. Marcus sat between Castro and I. I was directly across the table from Ted and Lisa. John and Neil sat to my left. While the hand was being dealt by Marcus, Ted filled his glass to the rim with bourbon. Normally, he's the type that pours his glass half full and savors his bourbon. Not this time. He immediately asked Lisa, "Are you a bourbon drinker, Lisa?"

Lisa shot a glance across the table at me and said, "Not really."

Ted took a sip of his whiskey and said, "Bourbon's a poker player's drink, Lisa. You can't play poker without drinking bourbon. Here, have a drink." Ted handed my daughter his tumbler, which was still filled almost to the top. She hesitated, again looking at me, but took the glass from Ted who said, "Go ahead, take a pull."

Lisa took a halting drink of bourbon and scrunched up her nose as sipped. "It burns," she said after swallowing.

Ted eyed the glass. Lisa's drink had barely registered — the glass was still almost full — and said, "Hell, girl, you call that a drink? A new bourbon drinker has to drain the glass. It's a poker tradition." The guys all snickered at Ted's lie. I even joined in with them — I was that drunk. Ted continued, "Go ahead, down the hatch."

Lisa eyed the glass hesitatingly. I'd guess there were about 4 shots of bourbon left in it. "The whole thing," Lisa questioned?

"You bet," said Ted, "The whole fucking thing."

Lisa giggled at Ted's language and brought the glass to her lips. She took a sip, frowned, and then started trying to chug the glass. She got about half of the bourbon down, choking as he did it, and said, "I can't do it, it's too much." She tried to give the glass back to Ted, who would have none of it.