A Swiftly Changing World

I woke from my nap to the sound of my daughter's voice as she gently shook my shoulder. I was still nude, laying on my stomach on top of the covers, and felt remarkably better about everything. Apparently, a few hours of uninterrupted sleep can help a guy to accept the fact that his world has turned upside-down.

"Hiya, Dad," Emily said sweetly. I blinked at her and was glad to see that she had gotten dressed since the last time I saw her. She wore a white t-shirt and a thigh-length skirt which reminded me of the kind of plaid skirts that schoolgirls wear except that it was also white. I did note, however, the lack of bra line under her t-shirt as well as the tell-tale fact that her small, pink nipples poked into the fabric of the shirt. I wondered, idly, if she had even bothered to put on panties, but decided that in the interests of self-preservation, I wouldn't ask- my daughter, it seems, could get horny at the drop of a hat, any hat, and asking if she was wearing panties might get her excited again. I was feeling rested, true, but not THAT rested.

I smiled wanly at her. "What time is it?" I groaned. As I sat up, my limp cock flapped against my inner thigh noisily, drawing both of our attention.

Emily's eyes sparkled with interest for a brief second, but she somehow managed to calm her ardor quickly as she answered my question. "It's just after one o'cock- I mean, clock. Sorry. I guess I've got a one-track mind these days."

I let out a slightly exasperated sigh through my nose as I swung my legs off the bed and went to the dresser for a pair of boxers and blue jeans. "Y'know, honey, you're going to have to learn how to control those urges. I thought I explained to you already that I'm not a young stud anymore." I zipped up my jeans, snatched a white t-shirt of my own out of the drawer and then turned around to look at her. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed now and I was immediately able to confirm the status of her panties: none whatsoever. She had doubtlessly positioned herself while I was getting my pants on just so that I could see her bare pussy when I turned around. The best response to an overt shot like that, I've learned, is to just ignore it. I did so.

"No," she said. "You're an *older* stud, but you're still a stud, Daddy. I mean, look at you! Do you have any idea how hot you look in those jeans right now? I knew you worked out every once in awhile to keep in shape after your Army days, but wow. I mean, I've seen you naked a lot over the last two days, but I never really noticed just how buff you really are."

"Thank you for the compliment, sweetheart," I replied, already certain of where she wanted the conversation to go, "but I've got bad news for you: I'm still not fully recharged. Sorry, honey, but Daddy's in no position to fuck you right now."

My daughter pouted a little at the news. "Damn," she said but shrugged it off. "Well, you can't blame a girl for trying. Anyway, I wasn't really expecting it. You said you were going to take a nap for a couple of hours and, when you didn't wake up, I decided to let you sleep for just one hour more. But we don't want you getting your schedule out of whack. While Mom's away, it's up to me to look after you, you know."

That made me smile a little and I nodded my head in capitulation. "Thank you. Well, I'm up now. I guess I'd better get the day started. What've you been up to while I was asleep, anyway?" I asked as I pulled my t-shirt on.

"Nothing much, really," she said conversationally. "I did some online surfing four a couple of hours. You'd be amazed at how much stuff on incest there is on the Internet. Fiction, videos, underground groups, victim support groups, new articles... it's *everywhere!* It's like this thing that lots and lots of people do or fantasize about but no one wants to really talk about it unless they've got something negative to say. And all the positive stuff is all couched in fiction. It's really weird."

"Well," I said with a shrug, "I guess not too many people come out in support of it because it's still illegal in most of the world."

Emily smiled wolfishly at that. "Ah-hah! But, that's the funny thing, too. Lots of first-world countries have laws against it, and most of them in very explicit terms, but most of the world, legally speaking, doesn't really give a shit. It's really a very fascinating thing, Dad. I think I've only just barely scratched the surface of it, but as an intellectual project, it seems like something I'd really be interested in studying. Academically speaking."

I smirked. "I'm pretty sure, sweetheart, that there aren't any colleges doing comparative studies on incest. Not any reputable colleges, anyway."

She wagged a finger at me. "And that's where you're wrong again. Universities like Harvard, Rice, Hellman, Berkley- they've actually given grants to people in the fields of psychology, genetics, medicine and sociology, all for the study of incest as a culture and as a practice. Millions of dollars spent, Dad, on investigating one of America's most taboo subjects completely in-depth. Most of them have come to the same conclusion: it happens and, under a very specific set of circumstances, it doesn't always end badly. The key to a successful incest relationship is, of course, consent of not just the involved parties but the entire family. Do you have any idea how lucky we are, to be in the situation we're in right now?"

"It's crossed my mind, yes," I answered as I sat on the edge of the bed a few feet away from my daughter. Despite the fact that we were discussing a very taboo topic indeed, I was happy to see her so excited about something involving research and independent study. I was never much of an academic myself, back when I was in college and met Jessica, but as a writer, studying various topics has always been part-and-parcel with my career.

"We managed to achieve, like, the Holy Grail of incest scenarios. But, like I said, I've only just started to learn about it. I was just about to start looking into the history of it before I realized the time and came to wake you. So now that you're awake, I'm gonna get back to it." She hopped off the bed and came around to kiss me chastely on the lips. "I promise, Daddy, that before this is through I'm gonna be, like, an *expert* in all things incest. I don't care how long it takes me, but I intend to learn everything I can about it."

I smiled broadly at that. "That sounds great, sweetheart. I might do some research of my own on the subject, if only just so that I can keep up with you when you start waxing poetic about the virtues of fucking your dear, old dad."

Emily scoffed with a smile. "I don't need silly research to do that, Dad. I always sorta knew that Mom was a lucky woman to have you as a lover, but now that I've experienced you for myself, I know it completely. There is nothing some stuffy Phd. can tell me about how wonderful you are that I don't already know myself. What we're doing, yes, was the catalyst for my new interest, but once I started learning more about it, I realized just how incredibly fascinating it really is. I think, when I go to college next year, I'm gonna try to make it the foundation for my master thesis," she informed me.

I arched my eyebrows at this news. "So you've decided to go to college after all?"

"Yeah," she said with a coy grin. "I think I wanna be a writer. Like you. I was thinking of making English Lit my major."

I shook my head. "Don't go for English Lit. You'll spend a lot of time studying other writers and their work, but nearly nothing on the actual craft of writing. Take some communications courses instead- Creative Writing, Script Writing and maybe dabble in Modern History. The first rule of writing, honey, is to write what you know. Who knows? Maybe you'll be the first author to write a widely accepted and socially viable novel about your new favorite subject."

My daughter's smile widened as her wheels began to spin. "Or maybe it'll be a memoir- the memoir of the woman who puts incest on the map and somehow manages to convince the rest of the world that it's not so bad after all."

I pulled her close to me again and kissed her quickly on the lips. "Well don't let me keep you from it. I've got the urge to do a bit of writing myself, so if you need me I'll be in my office. Have fun, sweetheart."

"Thanks, Daddy," she said as she started to walk out of the bedroom. Then she stopped short and faced me again. "Hey, Dad, would it be okay if I called Cousin Polly in a little while to talk things over with her? You said no cell phones, but I'm only gonna be here in the house, so no one else could hear us talking except other family members."

I thought it over for a moment. I highly doubted that any of our phones were bugged or that anyone would be listening in on our phone conversations. First of all, Sam had already told me, years ago, that he would have such things checked out clandestinely for me. Second of all, I'm a writer who, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, lives a pretty mundane and boring life. If anyone HAD ever tapped our phones, they'd have died of boredom years and years ago. I shrugged and said, "I don't see a problem with that, honey. Tell her I said hi."

She paused for just a second before asking, "I, uh, don't have to keep any secrets from her, do I? I mean, if I just started asking questions and stuff, she might think it was pretty weird, right? So can I, uhm, tell her about us?"

I took a deep, cleansing breath as I thought about that one. I'm not sure how it'd play out entirely, Sam would undoubtedly call me at some point to discuss it, but it's not like he could throw any stones at me over the subject. And since Jessica already knew, I didn't suppose that there'd be any harm in it. "I think it'd be okay, sweetheart. Just try to be discreet."

Emily's face screwed up in confusion. "How in the hell do I be discreet about saying that I have sex with my own flesh-and-blood father?" she asked.

I blinked at the question and felt mildly stupid for a second. "Good point. Fine, then. Tell her everything. But do me one favor, please."

"Sure. Anything."

"Ask questions," I told her. "Polly's the same age as you, but she's been doing this a lot longer than you have. She might have advice that you wouldn't consider or think of."

My daughter nodded thoughtfully at the suggestion. "Yeah," she said. "Okay. Makes sense. I probably won't call her right away, but maybe in a few hours. Want me to fill you in on the details when I'm done?"

"Sure, sweetheart. Like I said, I'll be in the office. Pizza again, tonight?"

"I'm a teenager, Dad. I'll take pizza any day of the week," she said as she began to leave once again. As she walked down the hallway, out of sight, she called out, "And I promise that I won't flash the delivery driver anymore!"

"Thank you!" I called after her. Good Lord, what a fucked up thing my life has become!

A short while later I sat in my office desk chair, staring at my computer screen for far too long without having done anything. There was a story I had been working on for months but, now, I just couldn't focus on it. I knew the plot, had devised an outline and even picked out an ending, but the motivation to write just wasn't there. Let me rephrase: the motivation to write on that particular story just wasn't there. I felt the urge to be creative and write something, but what I wanted to write and what I *could* write were diametrically opposed. The only thing I could think clearly about was the events of the last two days, a never-ending mental whirlpool of sex and confusion and discovery that rattled around in my head like mad. After I gave my predicament some thought, I decided to take my own advice- since all I knew at that moment was the topsy-turvy world I now lived in, I might as well write about it. So I opened a new document on my computer and began to purge myself of every memory, discussion and activity I'd shared with my daughter in the last 24 hours. Once I got started it was amazingly easy for me to lose track of time, forget about what was going on around me and even forget to stop for a snack. Everything just poured out of me like water out of a bucket. The only time I stopped was to make a quick call to the family general practitioner and schedule an appointment for my daughter. Once I was assured that, the next day, Emily would be getting a shot to keep her uterus from getting big with my baby, I immediately fell back into my writing.

By the time I'd gotten to the part where Emily and I had first coupled, I heard a knock on my office door. I glanced up at the clock and was shocked to see that it was 6 PM and dark outside. "Come in," I called out, knowing that Emily would be on the other side.

The door opened and my daughter poked her head in cautiously. "Are you sure it's okay?" she asked. She still hadn't forgotten about yesterday's unpleasantness.

I rolled my eyes at my daughter and beckoned her to come inside. "Yes, I'm sure. What's up?"

Emily walked in front of my desk and looked for all the world like a young student being called before her headmaster. The little white skirt she wore did nothing to discourage the mental image and being horny from having written about our first sexual escapades only helped my imagination along. I felt the fog of horniness begin to descend upon my brain, but shook myself out of it- other considerations, such as nourishment for my daughter and me, needed to be taken care of first. "Nothing major," my daughter answered. "I was just kinda worried about you. You've been locked up in here for most of the day."

I tapped a few keys to put my computer into standby mode and focused my full attention on Emily. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. The writing bug decided to bite me rather hard today."

Emily clasped her hands behind her back. "Really? Anything special?"

I smiled at my daughter. "You know my rule about letting people read my work before I'm done, sweetheart. But I'll tell you this much: your idea to write a memoir inspired me."

Emily's eyes got wide and then narrowed at me as she crossed her arms in obvious annoyance. "Shit. You're gonna beat me to it, aren't you? God damn it, Daddy, *I* wanted to write our memoir!"

I held up my hands defensively. "And you still can, honey. Trust me, I don't intend for anyone to see this, not even you guys. I just can't seem to write about anything else right now, so I figured that purging myself would help clear my head a little bit."

"And has it?" she asked, her tone testy. She was surprisingly upset of this.

"A little bit, yes. I promise, Em, that document will never see the light of day."

Emily seemed mollified by that and said, "Okay. I can accept that. I mean, I understand your need to write, Daddy, but I really wasn't kidding when I said that I wanted to publish the first incest memoir. And I don't care of anyone reads it, just so long as I get mine out first."

It was at that point that I realized just how serious my daughter was about wanting to follow in my footsteps. I wasn't about to steal her thunder if I could help it and solemnly swore to myself that I would let her publish her story first (author's note, years later: and she has!). "It's a deal," I said to her and meant it. "By the way," I said, "I scheduled you an appointment for tomorrow. You'll be getting a contraception shot, the best and fastest-working stuff on the market. I managed to convince them of the immediacy of our situation, as a concerned father, of course."

"Of course," my daughter replied non-committally with a smirk on her lips. "What time?"

"One-thirty. I figure we can go out for lunch and go to the doctor afterwards."

Emily smiled brightly. "I like that idea! It's been awhile since we've been out together. Hmmm... a date with my daddy, followed by a medical procedure which will ensure that he never-ever knocks me when he fucks me. Wholesome AND kinky, all in the same go. Cool!"

I shook my head and said wryly, "I'm glad that I could satisfy your deviant line of thinking so easily. Anyway, next topic: dinner." I picked up the phone and said, "So what kind of toppings do you want tonight? Or should I just order the same thing as last night?"

The issue of my writing and birth control now behind us, my daughter visibly changed into a much happier and brighter being. "Neither," she said. "I just got off the phone with Polly and she's invited us to dinner over there. She cleared it through Uncle Sam first, of course, and they all seem excited to see us again, this time under happier circumstances."

I put the phone back in its cradle and mulled it over for a few seconds. I knew that Sam would want to talk to me about this sooner or later, but I hadn't counted on him actually inviting me over for dinner just yet. Last night, when we'd parted ways at his house, he'd asked me how I felt about his family's decision to indulge in incest. My response had been somewhat lack-luster then. And, now, here I was, fucking my own daughter in less than a day and loving it, with solid plans to continue doing so in the far future. I realized that I'd probably have to eat some crow over that, but the ferryman always gets his pay, right? I might as well face the music and admit that I was wrong for having misgivings about his decisions. I stood up from my desk chair and made my way around to my daughter. "Are you okay with that? I mean... they'll probably ask us a lot of person questions."

Emily, however, was unperturbed. "I should hope that they do, Dad. God knows how many questions I've got to ask *them*- and I've talked poor Polly's ear off with all kinds of stuff already. That's part of why she invited us over for dinner- she got a headache trying to keep up with me. So, yeah, I'm definitely okay with going over there."

"Well, I guess it'd be rude to decline an invitation. I'll go get my shoes on and grab my keys and wallet. See you at the car in five minutes?"

My daughter beamed a huge smile at me. "Yep!" And then she bounded down the hallway like a gazelle, cheerful and full of energy. I didn't fail to notice that the back of her skirt flipped up with each bounding step, reminding me of the fact that she was still not wearing any panties. As I watched her go, I guardedly wondered just how crazy I actually had become. Should I admonish her to put on underwear before going to my brother's house? I asked myself. Nah. Fuck it. Cat's out of the bag now, right?

----------------------------------------

When the door to my brother's house opened this time, I was greeted with another surprise: little Becca stood in the doorframe, holding the door open for us, wearing a broad smile and a cute little summer dress. All of the women in my side of the family had bounteous bosoms, a gift of genetics that Sam and I had passed on to our own daughters and Becca was no exception- she had been blessed with large teats that were equal to Emily's. Standing at just three inches taller than my own, little daughter, Becca was a true, wholesome sight to behold. She always dressed demurely and kept the long black hair she'd inherited from her mother pulled back into a braided ponytail. She had less than stellar vision due to sitting in front of the computer most of her young life (she was a computer science major at U.Mass), but had forsaken her glasses in favor of contacts a few years ago so that her beautiful blue eyes could be seen by all. She was a late-bloomer in life, having become aware of her natural beauty only in recent years, but she was so kind-hearted and down-to-earth that vanity would never be an issue with her. If I hadn't seen those precious few seconds of video featuring her getting fucked by her father, I'd have thought that my niece was just about the most innocent girl in history. While cussing was something that nearly everyone in our families was accustomed to, Becca's speech was always guarded and smart and I'd swear that she might let slip a single cuss word maybe once in a year's time. But knowing what I know now and having seen what I saw the night before, I knew that there was a hot, sexual beast underneath that All-American facade.