jo4daddy Ch. 02

Jo was just stepping out of the Accord when I returned home from work. We shared a heartfelt hug in the driveway, and a few moments later were taking her laundry down to the basement.

I had not seen my daughter since the end of the summer. She had gained a bit more of a tan, which made me wonder if I was paying through the nose for her to learn or to lay in the sun. I quickly cast that thought aside, however, since I had only rarely ever known her to actually lay in the sun. She likely had a professor who enjoyed having classes outdoors while the weather was still warm enough for it.

Dinner was rather low-key: pizza and salad. The conversation was light and upbeat. As we spoke and ate, I kept wondering if the woman across the table from me as also jo4daddy. In a way, I hoped that she was, yet in a way, I hoped that she was not.

"So," I finally asked, "should I start looking for a tux to rent?"

"A tux?" she responded with obvious confusion.

"I figure you'll want me to wear a tuxedo at your wedding."

"Oh!" She smiled softly and averted her hazel eyes as a blush began to color her face and neck.

"I guess I'd better start looking for a tux then."

"There is a guy," she admitted quietly, finally looking at me again. "I doubt there'll be a wedding anytime soon, but he is interesting."

"I see. Well, I guess I won't rent a tux yet, but don't make me go buy a shotgun, okay?"

It took her a moment to understand the reference. "I won't, Daddy. I promise."

"Good. Just be careful."

"I know, Daddy."

And we left it at that.

*****

That night, I passed by my daughter's bedroom. The door was just slightly ajar, and while I could not see her, I could hear her typing at her laptop, which surprised me for a Friday night. I knocked softly, and she called me in.

"Homework?" I asked, glancing over her shoulder toward the screen. I could tell that she had Microsoft Word open, but could not see what she was typing.

She shook her head. "A friend wanted me to edit a story he'd written for a contest, so I'm typing my comments and sending it back."

"Oh? Well, you've always seemed to be a good writer," I praised her, "so I'm sure you're a good editor. What's the story about?"

"Uh..." She hesitated, clearly not wanting to divulge the information. "It's about an adventurer - think Lara Croft several hundred years in the future - who ends up crash-landing on an uncharted planet and encounters the local wildlife."

"That does sound interesting," I acknowledged, her short description instantly bringing several sci-fi books and short stories to mind. "I'll leave you to the editing. If you don't think your friend would mind another opinion, I'd be interested in reading it."

"Um, I'll check. After all, she doesn't know you."

That caught my attention, but I purposely did not make an issue of it. "Okay." With that, I left her alone, closing the door fully behind me as I left my daughter's bedroom.

*****

Jo was gone by midmorning to buy some things she needed which were more expensive at or near the college. It happened that I was going down to the basement freezer to get some steaks to thaw when I heard the dryer buzz loudly. Figuring I would be nice, I opened the dryer and placed the clothes on the small table.

It struck me that, for the first time in perhaps six years, I was folding laundry for someone other than myself. In high school, Jo had insisted on doing her own laundry, probably because she was suddenly embarrassed that her father would see or even touch her bras and panties. That was understandable, as my sister had acted that way as well, although from an earlier age.

When finished, I put everything in the old laundry basket she still used and took her clean clothes to her bedroom. To my surprise, the laptop had been left turned on, and the screen showed a familiar sight:

The main jo4daddy blog page.

I recognized the black background and the image across the top which was an interesting representation of the Tokyo skyline. I recognized the picture posted at the top left of the first entry on the page: a Japanese female in a typical sailor fuku, ropes confining her chest and making her breasts more prominent as a large blindfold rendered her sightless and assured her anonymity and a large ball gag filled her mouth and made her drool into her cleavage. Except for the drool, the image appealed to me, and once I set Jo's laundry basket by her bed, I approached the laptop, looking more closely at the image of the bound young woman before turning to the content of the topmost post:

I wish I could be the adventurer in the story I'm writing. I would love to be assaulted by tentacles sprouting up from the ground and having their kinky way with me. I can easily imagine several tentacles restraining my ankles and wrists while others try to force themselves inside me. I'm sure I'd be at least a little afraid, so my struggling would be genuine, but the violation would almost certainly render me docile eventually, and I'd find the pleasure in the inhuman rape. Hopefully at least one tentacle would also wrap around my neck and slowly squeeze and make me fight just to breathe. I love how the lack of air makes me more aroused and generally makes my body more sensitive, especially my erogenous zones. I just wish my

That was as far as I could read without scrolling down, but I definitely did not want to touch the laptop. I did not want Jo to know that I had seen this page. She would know that I'd been in her bedroom just because the laundry basket was beside her bed.

But that could be changed. I retreated, taking the laundry basket with me and leaving the bedroom door ajar again. Setting the basket beside the door, I walked away.

...returning to my laptop in the den.

I instantly went to the jo4daddy blog, but that particular entry, not surprisingly, was Friends-locked. Going to her profile page, I opened the detail section and saw that she had last received a comment in her blog not fifteen minutes earlier. Granted, the comment could have been to that entry, but it could also have been to any other entry to which the commenter had access.

I wish I could be the adventurer in the story I'm writing.

So much for the "friend" Jo had mentioned. So much for checking with the "friend" for permission for me to see the story.

My daughter writing about tentacle sex... It was almost baffling. I had seen tentacle sex video clips and related anime-style drawings online. Personally, I did not understand the appeal of tentacle sex.

That was the first sign that Jo was in any way sexual. Yes, she had occasionally bought and worn clothes with plunging necklines to show her cleavage, but they were definitely rather tasteful clothes, nothing truly overtly sexual. Yes, she had occasionally bought and worn clothes which were practically molded to her body, but that was an almost rare occurrence.

I leaned back in the chair, trying to decide whether I should create a new account and purposely try to befriend jo4daddy. The curiosity was growing. There was definitely no hard proof that the story from the "friend" and the story jo4daddy mentioned in her blog were in fact the same story, and thus also no hard proof that Jo was jo4daddy. It could have been just pure coincidence that Jo had left the jo4daddy blog on the screen of her laptop.

I looked at the picture of Jo on my desk. She had been a bridesmaid for a cousin's wedding the previous summer, and she was definitely beautiful, her lengthy brown hair spilling over her shoulders and down the front of her lavender dress, proudly holding the bouquet which had been thrown. Jo seemed so innocent in that picture - innocent and mature in the way she posed, blushing slightly because she had been the one to catch the bouquet.

Jo was definitely mature. She had long been rather mature for her age. I knew that she was no longer a little girl, but in a way, in my mind, she was still the little girl who had come home from the hospital without her mother.

She was very much mature for her age, so I was sure that, even if Jo truly was jo4daddy, even if she was now a sexual woman, even if she enjoyed bondage and asphyxia and whipping and older men, she was doing everything she possibly could to be safe in every way possible.

I was suddenly very, very tempted to go back into Jo's bedroom and sit at her laptop and check the history on her Web browser and scan through her hard drive for image and video files. The temptation was so great that I knew I had to leave the house until the temptation to violate her privacy had passed.

Two hours and three Starbucks locations later, I came home to find Jo sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over a large textbook and making judicious use of a highlighter. She appeared to be the same girl I had raised for so long, yet in looking at her, I could just begin to see a faint glimmer of a sexual, kinky woman beginning to truly come into her own.