Chapter 1

My parents had grown apart quite some time ago. The slept in separate beds, and had held their loveless marriage together for the sake of my older brother and I, at least while we were younger. Now that we were adults- or thought of ourselves as such- they stayed together out of simple habit. It was a joyless household, dull and grey, the life seemingly sucked out of all who dwelt there.

It always seemed such a shame to me; they'd married young, had children young, and had still yet to pass the age of forty. I thought they should be living life, loving life, but here they were, going through the banal routines of day-to-day life without any real spark of happiness.

And despite that he had no reason to- for he found no other woman appealing, even though he still did not desire my mother- my father kept himself fit, robust. And watching him as he swam about in the backyard pool, turning length after length, I began to wonder about another kind of length. Specifically, what kind of length might lurk beneath his swimming trunks.

I blushed, turned away from the window, and tried to find out where that thought had come from. To think of my father as a sexual being? What, was I some character from a Greek tragedy? And yet ... and yet, that was the problem. I had opened a door, and now could not close it.

From that moment on, I could no longer help myself. I'd never had a real boyfriend- despite what some of the idiots at my school might have thought I was to them- and I now began to understand why. Because the boy in boyfriend was the operative word; they were fumbling youths, inexperienced and interested only in their pleasure. But a man?

Well, that would be different. And so I began to fantasise about my father. I'd watch him swim, try to pick out the size of the bulge at the front of his swimmers, marvel at his toned and tanned physique. Though a highly-placed executive, he realised his appearance was vital for first impressions, and I had no doubt that his handsome face and winsome eyes had landed his firm many a contract from otherwise wavering female liaisons.

And other males began to pale into insignificance for me. I stopped flirting with, checking out, and gossiping over the boys at school, leading quite a few of my admirers and friends labelling me frigid or lesbian. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course, but I could hardly set them straight by revealing that there was only one man who I was attracted to, and that it was my father...

For month after month, I fantasised about him, imagining he'd wait until my mother and brother were asleep before creeping into my room and ravishing me, or that I'd work up the nerve to walk downstairs and into the pool area wearing a skimpy bikini- or better yet, perhaps, noting at all! But I lacked the confidence, alas, and no matter how often I masturbated I was never quite satisfied.

Hoping I needed a little spur to get me over that hump, I made a false date with my friends, pretending I would be gone to the movies. My mother would be at work, and my brother at a friend's house, helping him to fix up an old muscle car. I hid in my closet until I heard the familiar splash of my father diving into the pool, then crept up to my window, watching him swimming length after length.

Something seemed ... off? Perhaps? In his approach today. Usually he swam with metronomic precision, smooth movements knifing through the water, but today he seemed almost haphazard. And after a few laps, he dragged himself out of the pool, water cascading from his chiselled form. If you've seen Casino Royale, you can imagine well what I'm talking about; of course, my father is more handsome than Daniel Craig, but still.