Caring for Carrie

Carrie was laughing so hard her body shifted downwards, and I felt a warm, wet softness along my thumb. Looking down, I saw with horror that it had slipped between her labia into the opening of her vagina.

We both stopped laughing as I jerked my hand away immediately. "Sorry, kiddo," I said earnestly.

Carrie's face was frozen, unreadable. Then she let out a breath and relaxed. "It's okay, Dad."

We left it at that. I rinsed her off then toweled her down. "There. All done, Shelle Belle."

Carrie's eyes widened, and I realized immediately my mistake. "Shelle Belle" was my pet name for Michelle. My wife, her mother.

"Sorry, kiddo. It's just...you look so much like her." I immediately regretted my words. It wasn't the first time I'd told her how much she reminded me of her mother. But saying it while she was sitting there completely naked was probably not the best timing.

Carrie blushed yet again, but to my surprise, gave me a small smile. "Thanks, Dad. I really wish she was here."

I chuckled softly. "I bet you do. This would have been far less embarrassing for you if she was here to do this instead."

Carrie's smile widened as she let out a small laugh. "True. But I'm glad you're here for me, Dad. I'd rather it be you than some strange nurse."

Our eyes met and Carrie looked at me curiously, questions forming in her eyes that went unasked. She eased herself into a fully upright sitting position, almost as if inviting me to drink in her body. And I did. Again I was struck by just how much she resembled her mother, and not just in her facial features.

Then Carrie's eyes flicked downwards, only for a split second, jerking back up to meet mine again, now filled with something that looked very much like shock and surprise. I realized I had an erection, and that she had almost definitely just noticed it bulging in my pants.

Horrified, I quickly grabbed her bathrobe and moved it in front of me, blocking her view, then moved to put it on her. "Okay let's get you dressed and back in bed."

Carrie said nothing as I eased her into the wheelchair, then took her back to her room. She remained silent as I settled her in, then dressed her in a fresh nightgown.

"I'm...I'm gonna go start dinner," I said, making a hasty retreat towards the door.

"Dad?" Carrie's voice stopped me.

"Yes?" I replied, not turning around.

"How come you never remarried? Met someone else? I've never even seen you go on a date since Mom died."

"I..." I wasn't sure where to begin, or that this was a conversation I was even prepared to have. "I...just never got around to it, I guess. Haven't met anyone I've been...interested in."

"It's not good for you to be alone, Dad."

I finally turned to face her, and did my best to give her a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, kiddo. And I'm not alone. I have you."

"That's not what I mean, Dad, and you know it," Carrie frowned.

"We're not having this conversation now, Carrie," I said sharply. "I gotta go start dinner. We can talk about this later, okay?"

I left the room before she could answer.

******************************************

That night, I lay awake in bed, my thoughts racing with events of the day.

Until today, I'd never had a sexual thought about my daughter. There had always been a barrier there, solid and strong.

But that barrier had been smashed like balsa wood at the sight of Carrie naked, at seeing her developed body fully for the first time, at the touch of her warm, soft flesh as I bathed her.

My cock had swollen to a full erection without so much as a glancing touch, something that hadn't happened since...well, since Michelle died.

My thoughts now went to her. She was my first, and my only.

I grew up painfully shy, and it only got worse when I reached high school.

I found it very hard to make friends, and I could never even bring myself to talk to a girl, much less ask her out.

It's not that I was ugly. In fact, girls did try to engage with me quite often, only to give up when they realized they couldn't get more than a sentence or two out of me if they were lucky.

Eventually I developed a reputation; I was the nerdy kid who liked numbers and equations and chess and not much else.

I met Michelle senior year when she asked me to help tutor her for our Advanced Algebra class.

She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Long, naturally blonde hair with just a bit of curl to it. Eyes as blue as a tropical ocean. Rounded, firm but not overly large breasts, curvy hips, apple shaped bottom and long, toned, tanned legs completed the package.

But it was her smile, warm and genuine and full of simple kindness that made me say yes to helping her.

Wednesday's became our regular study night. I'd come to her house after school and we'd study in her room. Sometimes her parents were home; often they were not. But it didn't matter, because nothing ever happened besides studying.

At least at first. As the weeks went by, we found ourselves getting together more often, and not always just to study.

I taught her to play chess, and she picked it up quickly, but could never beat me, of course. Not until many years later, anyway.

She taught me how to cook, and we'd often make dinner together for her family.

She also, ever so slowly, taught me how to interact with other people. On weekends she'd invite her friends over, a mix of girls and guys. Her parties would probably be considered lame by typical teenage standards. There was never any alcohol or drugs, and certainly no sex.

Instead there were barbecues and pool parties and video games and movie marathons. Her friends slowly became my friends as well. Michelle had such a natural, easy way with people, and being around her opened me up mentally and emotionally as her personality began to rub off on me.

During all that time, we were strictly friends, never so much as holding hands. In fact, part of my ease around her stemmed from the fact that I viewed her as well out of my league, that I'd never actually stand a chance at becoming romantically involved with her.

Then the Senior Prom rolled around. As far as I had come socially, I still had no intention of going. It was simply beyond me.

Michelle brought it up first, telling me how much she wanted to go, but no one had asked her yet. I told her she should just go by herself and hang out with her friends. Yes, I was THAT dense.

It took Michelle's best friend Tiffany (who wound up being the Maid of Honor at our wedding) to convince me to ask her. She told me that Michelle had indeed been asked to the Prom by several of the most popular guys in school, but had turned them down because she was waiting for me to wise up and ask her.

It took every ounce of the courage I'd only recently gained to finally ask her.

And that night, when she came down the stairs to greet me in her stunning red, strapless sequined prom dress, I was glad I did.

I don't know if someone requested it or if it was simply a random selection by the DJ, but we shared our first slow dance to the song "Michelle" by The Beatles.

Maybe it was just fate.

I'd practiced dancing with my mother a few times leading up to the Prom, at least enough for me to learn how to lead without looking like a complete fool.

Now I had Michelle in my arms, swaying slowly and carefully together, eyes cast downwards as I concentrated on not stepping on her feet.

Then Michelle began to sing along, and looking up, our eyes met.

And that's when I finally understood.

"I love you, I love you, I love you

That's all I want to say

Until I find a way

I will say the only words I know that you'll understand..."

The way her face lit up as I sang along with that lyric made my heart race.

Then the chorus came up:

"Michelle, ma belle

Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble..."

We both broke into laughter as we completely botched the unfamiliar French words, (I eventually looked them up and their meaning so I could serenade her with it at our wedding reception) and as the song continued, I pulled her closer to me, and kissed her.

It wasn't a long kiss, and I wasn't stupid enough to try to use my tongue just yet. But our lips met and I felt her instantly returning it. The softness of that kiss, the slight wetness, the taste of her cinnamon lip gloss, are forever sealed in my memory.

Her eyes were closed as we broke the kiss. Then they opened, bright and sparkling, and her smile lit up my heart.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to do that?" she asked breathlessly.

"Far longer than you should have had to," I replied. "But don't worry; I'll never make you wait that long again."

"Good," she grinned. "Because I want another. Right now."

That kiss was interrupted by Tiffany, who had been dancing nearby with her boyfriend. "It's about damn time!" she chided us with a laugh. We laughed along with her, and then the music changed to an uptempo song and we danced merrily, bouncing around, jumping and laughing joyfully.

We didn't lose our virginity together that night, although it wasn't too long after. But we did spend a good forty minutes or so in the backseat of my car, steaming up the windows and getting a crash course in anatomy before going back to her place for the after party.

Our first time having sex wasn't exactly as "magical" as our first kiss; I came way too fast, and Michelle almost had a panic attack when she realized how much blood from her torn hymen had stained her bedspread. We spent more time cleaning up than performing the actual act.

But boy, did we become quick learners. Shelle was an enthusiastic and open minded lover, often shocking me with her filthy mouth and kinky requests.

We married not long after we graduated from the same local college and quickly found jobs in our chosen fields. She became a teacher, working with disabled and learning impaired children, while I found a job at a small but prominent accounting firm.

We struggled for a few years, but it was never about money. We were both very happy with simple things, simple pleasures.

Most of all, we were happy with each other. Neither of us were religious, and we didn't believe in spirits or ghosts or the supernatural. But when it came to our relationship, and how well we worked together mentally, emotionally and yes, sexually, the only real way to describe it was "soul mates."

There was never a desire on my part for another woman. Never a temptation. Why would I need another woman, when I already had one that met my every need?

While most of the guys I knew were complaining about how they weren't getting laid enough anymore, our sex life continued to not just remain consistent, but expand.

Blowjobs never went away and in fact, Shelle was insistent on keeping them a regular part of our routine, often sucking me off as soon as I got home from work, alternating regularly between swallowing every drop and begging me with her sweet but filthy mouth to cum on her face or tits.

We also enjoyed watching porn together, and had lots of fun recreating some of the rather ridiculous scenarios in role-play for our own amusement; seducing the babysitter, the naughty secretary, the nurse collecting a semen sample, the student with a crush on her professor...We even role-played the Daddy / Daughter scenario several times, although this stopped after Carrie was born, because I felt it became rather awkward.

Shelle could play both the demanding seductress and the innocent submissive with an almost frightening ease. And while I always felt my acting skills were subpar to hers, she never mocked me or made me feel uncomfortable. And we never took things TOO far, usually breaking character midway through and becoming ourselves by the time we got down to the actual sex. Depending on our mood by then, it could be sweet, romantic love making or down and dirty fucking. Many nights, it was both.

After a few years, I decided I was tired of working for a company run by people less intelligent and efficient as I knew I could be on my own, and decided to start my own business.

Things were tough at first, but Shelle stood by me every step of the way, often helping me with my work after coming home from her own job.

Eventually we did well enough to buy our own house, and not long after that, we were converting one of the spare bedrooms into a nursery.

Twelve years later, cancer took her, leaving me a widow at forty-three and Carrie motherless at twelve.

How could I possibly be expected to date again, let alone remarry? Years spent mourning, then focused on raising a daughter, left no time or inclination to find another woman. I'd never find another Michelle.

I still had sexual desires for awhile, but they waned quickly. Masturbation had become rote, routine and ultimately unsatisfactory. Porn now not only bored me, but actually made things worse. The silly plots just reminded me of the fun Shelle and I had in our role-play, while watching amateur couples in more romantic settings just reminded me of what I no longer had.

So I repressed my sexual needs to the point where I rarely if ever thought about them.

Until now.

Seeing Carrie naked, looking so much like her mother, had awoken my long buried desires. And it terrified me.

My cock throbbed as I lay there, trying to chase the images of Carrie from my mind. Trying not to remember the curves of her young breasts or the swell of her mound.

Unable to resist it any longer, my hand found my cock and began to stroke as I recalled the way her nipples swelled, how her labia had parted as I scrubbed her most intimate area.

I remembered the tight warm squeeze of her vagina when my thumb slipped in, and the blush on Carrie's face when she realized it was inside her.

I made such a mess when I came that I had to change my sheets before a troubled sleep finally took me.

******************************************

The next several days were uneventful; Carrie was feeling strong enough now to start using the bedside toilet I had purchased, using the railing to carefully ease herself in and out of bed. And while the casts on her hands made it difficult, she had at least enough dexterity in her fingers now to handle cleaning herself.

Lizzy was over often, and helped out quite a bit, even helping Carrie in the shower. While I still had to help lift her onto the shower chair, Lizzy handled all the rest, saving me from another prolonged period of seeing Carrie fully naked or having to touch her intimate areas again.

Lizzy popped into the kitchen as I was fixing dinner. "I'm heading out, Mr. Wilson. Wanted to let you know I'm leaving this weekend for a vacation with my family, won't be back for two weeks. Sorry, I know you could still use the help."

"It's fine Lizzy, you've been such a huge help these past few days, we both really appreciate it. We'll survive without you for a while, although I will say I'll miss your help, and Carrie will miss your company."

I ate with Carrie in her room. While she had some mobility in her arms, the casts still made it difficult for her to handle the silverware, much less get it to her mouth. But she was determined to do as much on her own as she could.

After dinner, I wheeled her out into the living room, giving her a much needed change of scenery.

We sat and enjoyed one of our favorite shows, binge watching several episodes before Carrie asked to go back to bed.

After settling her in and giving her a kiss on the cheek, I retired to my own room for the night.

I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard a loud thump from Carrie's room. I sprung out of bed, hearing her voice calling me urgently as I was already racing down the hall.

I stopped short upon entering the room. Carrie was lying on the floor, her nightgown awkwardly pulled up around her, exposing her genitals. She was struggling but failing to lift herself up into a seated position.

Beside her on the floor lay a neon pink vibrator, rattling away.

Carrie managed to look up at me, her face a mix of pain and embarrassment.

"Sorry, Dad, I...fell out of bed, and I can't get back up."

I quickly moved to her, carefully trying to help her up. "Are you okay? Are you in any pain?"

"No, no, I'm...I'm okay, just...God, this is embarrassing. Just help me back to bed, please?"

I carefully lifted her off the floor, laid her down and adjusted her nightgown, then covered her with a blanket.

Reluctantly, I bent down to pick up the still vibrating sex toy. I couldn't figure out how to turn the damn thing off. "Just...see that little button there? Just hold it down for a few seconds," Carrie instructed me, her voice cracking with humiliation.

"Um," I said, not knowing where to begin. "I'm not going to ask, Carrie. This is none of my business."

Carrie let out what sounded like a mix of laughter and crying. "I may as well explain; Lizzy got it out of my closet for me earlier. I was trying to, well...you know, but it slipped and fell on the floor. I tried to get it myself but..."

I lay the vibrator on the bed beside her, then knelt down next to her bed. "Look, Carrie, I get it. Nothing wrong or shameful about it. Just...try and be more careful, okay?"

Carrie's tears started to flow. "I'm not ashamed about masturbating, Dad. Just embarrassed as hell and frustrated because I can't even..." Her sobs choked off her last words and she hung her head, unable to look at me.

Not knowing at all how to handle this, I decided my best course of action was to simply leave her alone.

I was halfway to the door when her voice stopped me. "I'm just sick of being stuck in this room! Of not being able to do anything! I'm bored, and frustrated, and I can't even get myself off! These goddamn casts make it impossible to do anything!"

I returned to her bedside, attempting to comfort her through her tears. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I truly am. I wish there was something I could do, truly."

Carrie sniffled, struggling to get her sobs under control. I sat quietly, holding her hand, until she did so.

Finally she spoke, and what she said shocked me like nothing else ever had. "Maybe...maybe you can...help me."

I refused to accept that she meant what I thought she did. Instead, I replied, "Well, perhaps you can start spending more time outside in the sun, I can help wheel you out there. Or I can get you some new video games, or maybe we can..."

"That's not what I meant, Dad, and you know it." Carrie suddenly had the same determination I'd heard in her voice any time she was about to make an argument to get her way. And it frightened me, because she was usually quite good at getting me to cave in to her.

"Carrie, I...you know I can't help you..."

"You don't have to touch me, Dad," Carrie said firmly. "Just...hold my toy for me...keep it in place until I, you know..."

I stood as if to leave, but Carrie refused to let go of my hand. I could have broken free easily, her grip wasn't very good with the cast, but I allowed myself to be held back.

"Please, Dad," she pleaded. "I need this. Just this once. Both you and Mom taught me not to be ashamed of my body, or of self pleasure. Mom and I talked about it more than you did, but still... I'm old enough to consent to this, and I'm not asking you to do anything more than just help me."

I turned and met Carrie's eyes. Her look was one of urgency, and love. "I trust you, Dad. I know this isn't easy for you. But like you said, it's only weird if we make it weird, right?"

I shook my head with a small chuckle. "Oh it's weird no matter what, kiddo. Do you truly understand what you're asking from me? How it will affect me, no matter how I try to distance myself from it?"

Carrie nodded slowly. "I saw you when you bathed me, Dad. I saw how that...affected you. And I understand. You're a man. You have needs and desires, too."